


When I need to I close my eyes (I can almost see the sky)

by Yukichouji



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: All of the Prison AU cliches, Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Fingering, Angry Everyone, Because I needed to fill up the priosn somehow..., Books, Episode Related, Episode s02e06: Death Proof, Exasperated Fangs, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, French Kissing, Getting to Know Each Other, Grouchy Sweet Pea, Guys being stupid, Hand Jobs, Jughead draws all the wrong conclusions, Keep an eye out, Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Movie References, OMC Ghoulies, OMC Serpents, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Past Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, People getting stabbed, Protective Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Rising Tension, Run-in with the Baddies, Self-Discovery, Shivs, Slow Build, Sweet Pea sucks at communicating, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, allusions to rape/non-con, clueless jughead, discussions of rape/non-con, dub-con, idiots at work, kind of, non-con blowjob, non-con fingering, people in denial, tags will be updated as I go, unclear intentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 86,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21860785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukichouji/pseuds/Yukichouji
Summary: He rushes out of the office, followed by Mr. Phillips, to see what the Hell is going on now. In the few seconds Jughead has to take in the scene, he catches bits and pieces of the chaos that has broken loose. The hallway is swarming with cops, mayor McCoy standing at one end of the hallway, looking on like a huge carrion crow, self-righteousness written all over her features and displayed proudly. Lockers are being torn open and searched and all around him teens are being manhandled into cuffs, most of them Serpents.There’s the flash of a familiar mop of bright red hair at the other end of the hallway, Archie’s face panicked and his eyes wide as he searches the crowd. The exact moment that Archie’s gaze finds Jughead, Jughead’s world tilts and Archie spins out of his line of sight as a rough set of hands grabs his shoulders, spins him around and shoves him into the lockers hard. His face thuds dully against the corroded metal and for a second, he sees stars dance across his vision.ORThe one where Archie is just the tiniest bit too late and Jughead gets arrested and goes to Leopold and Loeb with the rest of the teen Serpents. It's not a smooth ride for him.
Relationships: Jughead Jones/Others, Jughead Jones/Sweet Pea
Comments: 114
Kudos: 188





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Where do I even start with this, geez?
> 
> First and foremost, this is pure, unapologetic self-indulgence. I pulled out _all_ of the cliches of a decent Prison AU and I am _not_ sorry! *clears throat*
> 
> I am currently working on chapter three and there are going to be about for to five in total, counting the epilogue. At least that's my rough estimate atm. It might still change. I wanted to wait with posting until I'd figured out where exactly I wanted to go with this and had at least a vague idea of how to get there, which took me much longer than I'd expected. I started this before I started 'Way down we go', but I keep writing myself into corners where I need to take a break from the fic, write something else and then come back to this with a clearer head. Which is also why I am not making any promises when it comes to updating frequency. The only thing I can say for sure, is that I have every intention of finishing this, however long it may take me. 
> 
> Anyway, if you're along for the ride, I really hope you enjoy it. It's gonna be a Hell of a journey, I can tell you that much.
> 
> The title is form ['Angel' by Matt Nathanson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuNyosqoLXY). The song does not fit the mood of this fic one bit, but I still liked the line *shrugs*
> 
> P.S.: One of these days I will be able to post something that does not require the non-con warning. Today is not that day.

~*~*~

Jughead is sitting in Mr. Philips’ office, wringing his hands in his lap and grinding his teeth against the rising resentment. He’s in the middle of a conversation with Mr. Phillips that he fears more and more will end in him losing the Red and Black and he hates it. None of it is fair. If only he can explain to Mr. Phillips that the Serpents aren’t the enemy here, that it’s the Ghoulies who’re bringing drugs and violence to Southside High and that he’ll be able to prove it with his next article, maybe then Mr. Phillips will be swayed to let him continue with the paper.

It’s still a bit of a shock to him how much his opinion of the Serpents has changed since he got to Southside High. A few weeks ago he’d wanted nothing to do with the gang that, in his mind, had dragged down his father into a maelstrom of bad choices that ended with him behind bars. Now he, who used to be their biggest detractor is sitting here trying to defend them. After becoming a member himself.

He thinks for a moment of high horses and painfully long falls but shakes it off in favor of finishing making his point.

His phone buzzes in his jacket pocket, but he’s so caught up in his argument that he barely notices. What does get both his and Mr. Phillips’ attention, however, is the commotion that breaks loose in the hallway outside only moments later. Their heads both snap toward the door of Mr. Phillips’ office simultaneously and Jughead would appreciate the comical element of it, if the circumstances were less worrying.

He rushes out of the office, followed by Mr. Phillips, to see what the Hell is going on _now_. In the few seconds Jughead has to take in the scene, he catches bits and pieces of the chaos that has broken loose. The hallway is swarming with cops, mayor McCoy standing at one end of the hallway, looking on like a huge carrion crow, self-righteousness written all over her features and displayed proudly. Lockers are being torn open and searched and all around him teens are being manhandled into cuffs, most of them Serpents.

There’s the flash of a familiar mop of bright red hair at the other end of the hallway, Archie’s face panicked and his eyes wide as he searches the crowd. The exact moment that Archie’s gaze finds Jughead, Jughead’s world tilts and Archie spins out of his line of sight as a rough set of hands grabs his shoulders, spins him around and shoves him into the lockers hard. His face thuds dully against the corroded metal and for a second, he sees stars dance across his vision.

There’s a sharp burst of pain and then the taste of copper blooms across his tongue as blood starts dripping from his nose. Another bruise to go with the matching set from his initiation, still bright and tender, head spinning, as a pair of handcuffs clicks shut around his wrists.

The metal bites into his skin, too tight, and it doesn’t take long for panic to kick in. He looks over his shoulder as the deputy pulls him through the hall and he gets another glimpse of Archie, fists balled at his sides and face contorted, but then he stumbles over his own feet and Archie is lost again. He would have fallen, if not for the deputy gripping his arms and he’s led outside to the armada of squad cars that’s waiting there.

_None of this is legal_ a detached part of his brain supplies helpfully, but  when he puts his thoughts into words,  no-one gives enough of a fuck to  actually  listen to him.

~*~*~

He’s in an interrogation room at the Sheriff’s station, his hands slowly going numb behind his back.  A trail of dried, flaking blood  running down  from his clogged up nose across his mouth, chin and neck until it meets his collar where it’s  soaked into the fabric of his shirt,  still damp and sticky  there .  He must look like an extra out of a  Wes Craven movie, Jughead muses numbly as the deputy across from him reads him his rights.  A t least his nose isn’t broken, that much he can tell. Small mercies  and all that . 

It takes a considerable  amount of  self-control to not make some sarcastic remark about the  listlessness in the deputy’s voice as he rattles off his script , but somehow he manages, teeth grit and scowl almost painful. 

“What exactly are the charges supposed to be? Because I honestly have no idea why I’m here.” Jughead tries and fails to make it sound civil, but the officer across form him really doesn’t look like he gives much of a shit either way. The man snorts and looks up from the form he’s filling out, Jughead’s wallet and his ID card lying on the table next to him.

“Do you want me to make a list?” Deputy Andersen, as his name-tag helpfully provides, asks dryly. “How about ‘drug possession’, ‘gang affiliation’, ‘causing civil unrest’, ‘resisting arrest’ and ‘being an insufferable little piece of trash’?“

Jughead takes a deep breath before he gets started. “OK, first of all, I don’t really think that last one is something you’re allowed to arrest people for. And second, do you have any proof at all for the rest of those? And what about a lawyer and a phone call? Don’t I have a right to those? Because all of this sounds pretty arbitrary to me.” It’s a little hard to sound as indignant as he feels, what with his clogged up nose and all, but he does a fairly decent job of it anyway.

Andersen snorts and shakes his head, looking annoyed as he goes back to filling out the stupid form. “Great, we’ve got a smart ass on our hands. That attitude is going to give you a really hard time where you’re going.”

“What?”

“Oh, you and your little Serpent buddies are being transferred to Leopold and Loeb juvenile detention center as soon as you’re processed. We don’t have room at the Sheriff’s station to keep all of you here until your legal matters are sorted out. Anything regarding lawyers or phone calls will be dealt with once you’re over there.”

“You can’t just ship us off to prison without due process.” Jughead bursts out, brows furrowed and resentment rising in his chest like a fist unfurling. “That’s got to be breaking at least five laws or something. If we were Riverdale High students, you’d never even think of pulling a stunt like that! You’d be bending over backwards to make sure everything goes by the book. ”

“Yeah, well, you’re not.”, Deputy Andersen says, putting his signature on the form, a sarcastic twist to his lips. He gets up and pulls Jughead out of his chair and onto his feet without much regard towards Jughead’s comfort. “You can discuss all that with the deadbeat lawyer you’ll get assigned by the court. Feel free to file a complaint.”

Jughead fumes but saves his words, because they’re so obviously wasted on this  asshole .

He gets shoved back into the overcrowded holding cell, where Sweet Pea, Fangs and a couple of other Serpents are perched together. Some of them with fresh bruises on their faces and a mixture of anger and resignation around them that makes the air feel uncomfortably thick. They’re all quiet, glowering and hanging back, no use in drawing attention to themselves and getting into any more trouble.

This is so fucked up, all of it and the worst thing is that there’s nothing Jughead can do about it right now. He’ll just have to suck it up and wait it out until he gets the chance to talk to someone who can actually help.

Which brings him to the question of who he’s going to call once he gets the chance and he comes up painfully short. In the last few days his list of friends and allies (a list that was never all that long to begin with) has pretty much been reduced to the people sitting in the holding cell with him. After that stunt that Betty and Archie pulled on him, he refuses to break down and call either of them. If that’s how they want things to be they can just go fuck themselves for all Jughead cares. The memory of what Archie said to him still sits heavy in his chest, a wound that’s been festering for days. A wound that feels like it’s just going to get worse as time goes by, instead of better.

His dad’s in prison and unreachable to him now. And, oh, there’s an awful mix of bitterness and misery there, the irony of his situation not lost on him.

What he does have though, is the new family that has welcomed him into their midst. Jughead will call Tall Boy and pray that the Serpents on the outside will know what to do. The thought brings at least a little comfort with it. There’s no way the charges are going to stick, Jughead doesn’t think, but he still wants to spend as little time behind bars as possible. One stint in Juvy was more than enough, thank you very much. And while it hadn’t exactly been a smooth ride, he knows he had it relatively easy back then, because of his age group.

This time around is going to be a whole ‘nother ball game, to go with a sports metaphor for once. But he’ll tackle that problem once he gets to it.

What Jughead can’t stop wondering about though, in the mean time, is what Archie was doing at Southside High. Had he come to rub more salt into Jughead’s wounds? Or had he come to try and make amends? Or, even more unlikely, had he through some improbable twist of fate known about the raid beforehand and come to warn Jughead? Had that been the message on his phone?

Jughead scoffs at himself, angry about the way he’s still trying to see the best in Archie, how he’s trying to raise him up onto some kind of pedestal. Floating above the garbage that is the rest of this fucking town, when Archie has proven more than once already that he’s perfectly capable of letting Jughead down when Jughead needs him the most.

There’s no way to check his phone until he gets his stuff back and that probably means until he gets out of Leopold and Loeb. He squeezes onto the bench with the others, mindful of his still cuffed hands and lets his head roll back against the smooth cement wall, while trying to ignore the queasy, fluttering sensation that’s building up just beneath his collar bone. Something he refuses to admit is fear.

~*~*~

It takes a lot less time to get everyone processed and loaded onto the prison bus than Jughead would have expected. It’s amazing how swift and efficient bureaucracy can work, when the right people profit from it, Jughead thinks bitterly and grinds his teeth until his jaw hurts.

Because there’s no way that this raid wasn’t orchestrated by someone higher up, someone with a stake in the game and something to gain from putting a bunch of teenagers behind bars. He just has to figure out who.

“Can you _please_ stop being so jittery?” Sweet Pea snaps from the seat next to his. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

It’s only then that Jughead realizes his leg’s been bouncing up and down of it’s own accord, a nervous tick, rattling the chains that connect his wrist cuffs to his ankle cuffs. Shit. Jughead takes a deep breath and forces himself to sit still.

“Sorry.”, he mumbles without looking at Sweet Pea, gaze drifting out of the window instead. Sweet Pea huffs, but doesn’t say anything else.

Outside, a sea of trees blurs past. Evergreens and firs in a seemingly endless swirl of green.

~*~*~

The huge, depressing block of cement, chain-link fence and barbed wire curls that is Leopold and Loeb towers before them like a dark omen against the overcast sky as the bus pulls closer.

Toni gets taken away with the rest of the female Serpents, to a different wing, and Jughead and the other males are herded along by an impatient asshole, who likes playing with his nightstick a little too much. Processing at the detention center is way less friendly and way more humiliating than it had been at the Sheriff’s station.

Standing in a line against a chain link fence in the a cold, secluded courtyard they’re forced to strip out of their clothes, stack everything they have on them into sad little piles in front of them and then watch as a guard collects their things and whisk them away. Jughead’s hand hesitates on his beanie, throat uncomfortably tight until someone yells at him for taking too long and he yanks it off like he would a band-aid. Lets it drop onto his pile and forces himself not to look at it again or to wonder too much about whether or not he’s going to get it back intact.

A correctional officer steps up to each of them, flashlight in hand, makes them open their mouths and lift their tongues, shines it into their ears and noses. And as if that isn’t humiliating enough already, Jughead has a moment of absolute mortification, when he glances to the side and sees Fangs turn around to face the chain link and a guard with a latex glove on one hand step up to him. Jughead snaps his eyes away, trains his gaze carefully onto a spot in the distance ahead of him, same as the others, and does the best he can to pretend like he’s somewhere else.

He can’t fucking believe that they’re doing a full cavity search on them, right here in the open, not even the illusion of privacy to soften the ordeal. It’s cruel and unnecessary and Jughead is sure there has to be a regulation against it somewhere, but, just like before, no-one actually seems to give a damn.

When the guard with his stupid glove steps up to Jughead and he’s the one who has to turn around and bend over, he screws his eyes shut and tries to focus on the mental scratchpad he keeps in his head with notes for things he’s going to write some day. Thinks about how satisfying it’s going to be to make the Sheriff’s office and Leopold and Loeb the focus of his next article, outlining exactly how they deal in prejudice and blatant ignorance when it comes to handling a bunch of teenagers, whose right to fair process is being trampled underfoot. If Mr. Phillips is ever going to let him write for the Red and Black again after this, that is, and his stomach twists itself up even more at the thought.

Jughead flinches at the first contact, latex on skin. It’s clinical and impersonal and he hates it with a miserable kind of severity. He bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood when the guard pushes into him with that same businesslike brusqueness and still it’s not enough to keep down the high-pitched whine of discomfort that slips out like a curse. Heat rushes to his face and all he wants to do is crawl into a hole somewhere and die in piece, he feels so embarrassed. Whatever the jerk in uniform is doing, it fucking hurts and it takes way longer than Jughead would think necessary.

Once they’re through with that part, the guards hose them down, one after another, the water hard and cold, a shock to Jughead’s system, and throw delousing powder at them, like they’re animals at the shelter. Jughead screws his eyes shut and presses his lips into a thin line to keep the burning grit out until someone steps up and drags a rag across his face to clear it. At least it finally gets rid of most of the blood on his face.

Naked and wet and miserable with a hand full of delousing powder stuck to his hair and skin, he feels like he’s been teleported into the first five minutes of every prison movie he’s ever seen. None of them are particularly cheerful and only a scant few ever end well. It’s the worst kind of cliche.

~*~*~

Each of them gets handed a bar of unscented soap, a roll of toilet paper, a plastic tooth brush, a small tube of tooth paste and a stack of prison issue clothes. Two pairs each of sweatpants, a sweater, t-shirt, socks, boxers, all in uniform gray, and one pair of nondescript sneakers. Jughead scrambles to get dressed as soon as they’re allowed, eager to put something between himself and the cold, eager to cover himself back up. The sweatpants are a little long, the sweater a little wide, but they do the job well enough and even though the smell of disinfectant and laundry detergent on them isn’t exactly pleasant at least they’re clean.

~*~*~

Their cell block is a long, depressing hallway with clinical lighting, naked cement walls and floors and a row of cells on each side. Most of the cells are empty at the moment, doors to them open and Jughead guesses the other inmates are probably out in the yard or whatever other options Leopold and Loeb offers them to hang at. The guards divide them up into their respective cells, two a piece for most of them.

Sweat Pea and him are the last pair to get put away, with Fangs in the cell directly across from them. Sweat Pea sighs dramatically, when he realizes that they’ll be sharing a cell and flops down on one of the cots, arms crossed over his chest and face scrunched up, looking irritable. And, yeah, it’s not like Jughead is particularly ecstatic at the prospect of being stuck in a 6 by 8 foot cell with him for God knows how long, but at least Sweet Pea is someone he knows. Someone Jughead is reasonably sure won’t stab him in his sleep as long as Jughead doesn’t annoy him too much.

The door, made entirely of iron bars, clangs shut behind them and Jughead steps up to it, the guard, who locked them in already turning to leave.

“Hey,” Jughead calls out and the guard halts and looks back, frowning at him. “Aren’t we supposed to get a phone call? A lawyer? Something?”

Sweet Pea gives Jughead a sharp look, but Jughead ignores him. If he lets the guy go now, who knows how long they’ll leave them in here to rot. This whole thing could drag out for weeks, maybe longer if they’re really unlucky and Jughead is aggravated enough to need an outlet for it. Arguing seems like the thing to do. He’s not just going to sit there quietly and let them bury him and the others in the System. Just because they live on the wrong side of the tracks it sure as Hell doesn’t mean these people can just get away with blatantly ignoring their rights. Jughead knows from experience that the system is crooked, but he’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut about it.

The guard steps up to the bars, leans against them leisurely, voice dripping with barely repressed sarcasm. “You’ll get a _lawyer_ once the court appoints you one. Which is probably going to take a while. These things are pretty slow moving around here. And for the phone call, you’ll get that as soon as we’re done with your paperwork.”

Jughead can feel his nose scrunch up, still tender from his close-up with the locker, accompanied by a rise of impotent anger. “So you’re just going to let us rot in here until you _feel_ like it? None of this is _legal_! We shouldn’t even be here. Don’t you care at all about the repercussions something like this could have? About the implications for this institution?”

Any notion of civility falls away from the guard’s face at that, it goes stony and cold and before Jughead can step away the guard thrusts an arm through the bars and grabs a fistful of Jughead’s sweater just below the neckline and twists. The asshole yanks Jughead forward until he’s mashed uncomfortably against the bars, cold metal digging into his chest, unyielding, nose to nose with the guard.

“You know,” the guy says, tone hard and unimpressed, “insolent little shits like you get into trouble real quick around here. I suggest you do as you’re fucking told and shut your pretty little mouth before I shut it for you.”

With that he lets go of Jughead’s sweater and shoves him back, Jughead stumbling with the force of it. Then the guard turns and leaves, clanging his nightstick against the bars as he goes.

“I can’t believe this place!” Jughead burst out, arms flailing helplessly. He grinds his teeth against the urge to shout after the guard and starts pacing along the middle of the cell, back and forth between the two bunks instead, fingers combing through his hair in a feeble show of frustration.

“Are you stupid or something?” Sweet Pea hisses and brings Jughead out of his train of thought.

“What?” Jughead stares back at him irritably, not really in the mood for any of Sweet Pea’s shit right now.

Sweat Pea gives up slouching on his bunk in favor of getting to his feet and into Jughead’s space, looming a good 4 inches over Jughead, so that Jughead has to cant his head up to meet his eyes. Jughead hates the way it makes his stomach flutter nervously and he squares his shoulders against the urge to step back. He’s not going to be cowed that easily.

“If you don’t keep your mouth shut and check your fucking attitude, you’re going to get all of us in trouble.” Sweet Pea says accusingly, hands balled at his side. There’s always something about Sweet Pea, about the way he holds himself that makes it seem like he’s just on the verge of exploding, a latent promise of violence right beneath the surface. But it’s even worse now, here, and Jughead has a moment to wonder whether it’s this place that’s doing that to Sweet Pear or whether it’s being stuck in here with Jughead.

Instead of focusing on any of that, Jughead distracts himself with his own frustration, not ready to back down. “So what? Don’t you care at all about how unfair this is?”

Sweat Pea huffs out a derisive breath and thins his mouth into a mean smile. “Life isn’t fucking fair, Jones. I thought you’d’ve figured that much out by now.” He spreads his arms and unfurls his fists in favor of waving his hands around. “Not, when you live on the Southside anyway. And least of all in here. If you wanna survive in a place like this, you better learn how to keep your head down and hope to Hell nobody fucking notices you. All your stupid Northside attitude is going to do for you here is make your life fucking miserable. And I’m not going to let you drag the rest of us down with you, if you don’t get with the program.”

Jughead grinds his teeth against the retort lodged at the back of his throat. He wants to _punch_ something _._ Yell at Sweet Pea just to get some of his frustration out, but the smarter part of himself knows that that wouldn’t make anything better. He’d just end up escalating the situation and Sweet Pea sure as Hell isn’t going to be the one to back off and let things be in the face of that. Either Jughead takes the high route here or they’re going to end up throwing fists at each other and wouldn’t that just be fucking great?

“You sound like you know exactly what you’re talking about.” Jughead says and takes a step back, drops down onto the cot across from the one Sweet Pea has already claimed as his and crosses his arms over his chest. Mirroring Sweet Pea’s previous slouch. The words come out a little more bitter, than Jughead had meant them to, but Sweet Pea takes the hint anyway and sinks back down onto his own cot. He still looks pissed, but at least not enough to sock Jughead in the face, anymore. Which, yeah, Jughead figures his face looks bad enough as it is. No need for any more abuse.

“This isn’t my first time in here, alright. I know the drill.” Sweet Pea grumbles and Jughead raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him, but that’s all Sweet Pea offers.

Defeated, Jughead sighs and flops back on the cot as a sullen silence settles over them again. He scrubs at his nose carefully, trying to rub away the last of the flaky blood from around his nostrils, winces, when all it does is prod at the hurt and lets his hand drop away again.

It takes him all of five minutes before he can feel himself get restless again.

The cell doesn’t exactly offer much in the form of distractions. It’s a gray, depressing block of concrete, broken up only by the bars of the door and a tiny little window across form that. Set high and covered with heavy chain link, barely enough to let in the midday-sun. There are the two cots, one on either side of the cell, the pillows lumpy, the blanked a width of gray, scratchy wool that Jughead doubts is gong to do anything to ward off the chill at night and the mattress barely even there over the hard steel of the cot. A narrow, splintering little shelf screwed to the wall at the head of each cot for possessions they don’t have, aside from their spare set of clothes, and a stainless steel sink and toilet combo in the corner next to the door. God, Jughead really fucking hopes they have toilets with a little more privacy around this place somewhere because he’s not about to drop trou with a God damn audience, if there’s any other option. Things are demeaning enough as it is.

His thoughts wander to his dad and he quietly wonders, if it’s as depressing and bleak at Shankshaw as it is here or if it’s even worse. Makes him wonder, how his dad is doing it, keeping sane and keeping himself safe, or if he’s just good at hiding from Jughead the way it eats at him, takes junks out of his soul at a time.

He pulls his arm across his eyes and tries to ignore the swell of hopelessness that makes his chest feel heavy and his throat feel tight. How is he supposed to help his dad, if he can’t even help himself right now?

~*~*~

Jughead looses track of time for a while, locled in his head, focusing on planning out new chapters for his book to keep his thoughts form straying into hopeless territory, to keep himself busy as they wait. He’s so zoned out, that it actually catches him by surprise, when his stomach makes a miserable little gurgling sound, loud enough that Sweet Pea raises an annoyed eyebrow at him.

“Sorry.”, Jughead mumbles sheepishly, feeling color rise to his cheeks and clasping his hands over his stomach like that can magically keep it quiet. “Didn’t really have time for breakfast this morning.”

Now, that his attention is on it, he can feel how hungry he is and he thinks miserably, that they probably missed lunch as well.

Sweet Pea snorts, not really amused. “Well, lunchtime in here ended about an hour ago, I’d guess. And since you pissed off the guards, there’s a good chance that they’ll make us miss dinner, too.”

“Great.”, Jughead mumbles and grits his teeth in frustration. This just keeps getting better. He combs his fingers through his hair before falling back onto his lousy excuse for a pillow and picking back up where he left off with his novel, doing his best to ignore the gnawing ache in his gut and Sweet Pea’s disgruntled glances.

~*~*~

To everyone’s not-so-quiet disappointment, Sweet Pea’s prediction about lunch holds true.

It’s some time during late afternoon, Jughead guesses by the quality of the light filtering in through the window and the dull hollowness in his stomach, when a couple of guards come down the corridor and herd them out of their cells.

The phones are set in a delimited little area next to the common room, which they walk past on the way, catching glimpses of a couple of other inmates lounging around tables, playing cards or staring at the small TV in the upper left corner, some sending them furtive glances, mindful of the guards. The room that houses the phones is empty, though. The phones themselves are ancient, huge receivers and round dialing plates on bodies screwed to the wall, three in a row, just far enough from each other to offer a modicum of privacy if the conversation is held lowly.

Everyone gets ten minutes to make their call, then is commandeered to step aside and let the next one have their turn. Jughead calls the White Wyrm in the hopes of catching Tall Boy there. He doesn’t actually have the number for Tall Boy’s cell memorized, but the landline for the Wyrm has been stuck in his head for years. All the times he’d rushed to get the phone before his mom and Jellybean could when it plopped up on the small screen, because he knew it meant his dad needed to be dragged home and he didn’t want his mom to have to set foot in that fucking place. So many ugly memories, even after mom and JB left for good, that are now, slowly being replaced by different ones, better ones. By the tentative, ever skeptical hope of having found a place he just might be able to belong.

Tall Boy actually is at the Wyrm and the bartender, Hogeye, passes the phone along helpfully.

Tall Boy and the other Serpents have already heard about the raid and apparently Jughead is not the first to call the Wyrm from Leopold and Loeb. They’re on it, Tall Boy assures him, have already reached out to certain acquaintances and are doing what they can to get them out as soon as possible, although there are no estimates as to when that might be, yet.

It’s reassuring, at least, to know that they won’t be forgotten or abandoned and it’s a Hell of a lot more than Jughead is used to.

Tall Boy promises to get message to Jughead’s dad, too, just so that FP won’t wonder why Jughead isn’t answering his calls or showing up to visit anymore. Even if it means that Jughead will have some explaining to do once this whole thing blows over.

~*~*~

Left to their own devices until lock-down, Sweet Pea makes noise about heading out to the yard to mingle with the other Serpents in here and Jughead supposes that makes sense. If he’s honest, he’d much rather curl up on his bunk and try to get some sleep or something, he’s hungry and tired and his face throbs painfully, a headache building across the bridge of his nose. But he’s not stupid enough to go alone, he sees the glances the other inmates throw them, assessing, trying to place them on the pecking order that structures life in a place like this, to suss out potential weaknesses.

The hostility in here is thick and heavy, smothering almost and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. Chances are, that the Serpents aren’t the only gang with members behind bars in this particular facility and if there are any Ghoulies around, Jughead knows now to steer clear as best he can. He’s learned his fucking lesson.

There’s a surprising number of people out in the yard considering the soft chill of the evening that creeps through the fabric of Jughead’s sweats quickly once they’re outside. There are inmates gathered on benches, around tables, out on the basketball court or near the few set up bits of gym equipment, some just milling about on the grass or near the fences. The weirdest thing about it, Jughead thinks, is the complete lack of the sort of color such crowds normally bring with them, everyone there except for the few guards patrolling around is dressed in the same gray prison issue outfits.

Out here, eyes land on them more openly, some of the guys they walk past going so far as to call out to them, throwing a bunch of crude expletives their way or using nicknames like ‘Sweetheart’ and ‘Sugar’, hazing the new guys and trying to figure out which one of them might be easy pickings.

Jughead makes the mistake of letting his eyes wander and catches the gaze of a tall, dark kid with tattoos all up his neck and the guy winks at him, when he sees it, a filthy smile twisting his thin lips upwards. Jughead snaps his head away and keeps his eyes locked on the back of Fang’s head for the rest of the way.

Reflexively, he reaches out to pull his beanie further down over his ears only to be reminded that it’s not there anymore, fingers threading through his hair uselessly. His stomach sinks and he folds his arms across his chest, shoulders curling in defensively, feeling more exposed than he should.

Sweet Pea, apparently, spots someone he knows at one of the round tables and the rest of them follow as he heads over. There’s a group of young men gathered there, all of them flaunting Serpent tattoos, t-shirts rolled up to lay bare ornated shoulders or sleeves of sweaters bunched up at the elbow to show their forearms despite the cold. Them being in here instead of a ‘real’ prison means they’re all underage, but Jughead will be damned, if they look it. They all have an edge to them, broad frames, strong arms, and a hardness to their faces that ages them beyond their years and Jughead wonders how long they’ve been in here to give them that sort of look or if they brought it in with them.

One of them, the guy Jughead pegs as the leader of the group by the way the others are gathered around him, lifts his head and nods at Sweet Pea. He’s tall and shifty looking, blond hair cropped close to his skull and Serpent tattoo curling along the side of his neck like Sweet Pea’s does, only bigger.

“Heard you were coming.” The guy says in greeting. “Some shit they pulled there.”

Sweet Pea snorts. “Yeah. But what do you expect? When has the fucking Northside ever not had it out for us?”

“Right. Nothing new there. I see we’ve got some new faces, though.”, the guy gets up out of his seat and walks around the table, stops in front of Jughead, one hip leaning back against the hard metal edge, and gives him a thorough once over, gaze intent. The kind that makes Jughead’s skin feel uncomfortably itchy, but he forces himself to meet the Serpent’s eyes instead of ducking his head like he wants to. “Name’s Darwin. Who are you, then?”

Jughead winces a little, startled when Sweet Pea’s hand comes down on his shoulder. It’s weird, because Sweet Pea doesn’t usually make a point of touching Jughead and the hand feels oddly proprietorial. Jughead makes a move to shrug it off, but Sweet Pea’s grip tightens in a quiet warning and Jughead lets it be, confused.

“His name is Jones. He’s FP’s kid. Just passed initiation. Joined after FP got put away. FP could have named names to reduce his sentence, but didn’t, so we owe him. We look after our own.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jughead can see Fangs give Sweet Pea a look, eyebrows raised.

“It’s Jughead, actually.” Jug mumbles, brows furrowed, irritated about not getting what exactly’s going on. Sweet Pea is being weird and it’s creeping him out a little.

Darwin glances between Sweet Pea and Jughead and hums, amused. He offers a hand and Jughead takes it, Darwin’s grip tight enough to be painful, like guys like to do to show off their strength sometimes. Stupid posturing, if you ask him, Jughead thinks and tries not to wince. “Welcome to the family, then.”

After that, the mood changes again and Jughead breathes a quiet sigh of relief when Sweet Pea’s hand slips away form his shoulder and Darwin’s attention moves elsewhere.

“Alright,” Darwin rubs his hands together and brings his gaze back to Sweet Pea and the rest of the newcomers. “You know how this goes. You do us a small little favor and we make sure you have a smooth ride under out protection. It’s a simple deal. We all get something out of it.”

Sweet Pea nods solemnly and Darwin pulls what looks like a tooth brush out of his sleeve, careful to shield it from the eyes of the wandering guards. Jughead is confused at first, until he realizes that the bottom end of the plastic brush has been filed to a sharp point, the sides flattened out, keen-edged like a blade and his stomach drops out. It’s a fucking shiv.

“See that Ghoulie over there, alone by the bleachers?” Darwin nods in the general direction and, yeah, there’s a kid hanging around near the chain-link fence, fiddling distractedly with the hem of his sweater. He doesn’t look threatening at all, just like a guy who’s in a bit over his head. “We want you to shiv him. The guards have been bribed to look the other way.”

“What? Why?” Jughead blurts out, incredulous, a terrible sinking feeling spreading through his gut. Something close to panic.

Darwin raises an eyebrow at him, smile mean. “Because he’s a Ghoulie and I don’t like his fucking face. That’s why. And that’s about all the reason you need in here.”

Jughead looks around at the others, seeking some kind of support, but while some of them look scared, no one seems inclined to voice any objections. Fangs crosses his arms over his chest defensively and looks away, when Jughead meets his eyes, as do most of the others.

“I’ve got this.” Sweet Pea snaps, face a hard mask of trained indifference, and takes the proffered weapon from Darwin. Slips it partway up his sleeve to conceal it like Darwin had before and turns to stroll in the general direction of the bleachers, head ducked to not draw attention.

Jughead rushes after him, grabbing his elbow tightly to make him stop once he catches up with Sweet Pea. “You can’t be serious!” He hisses, disbelieving and scared, but still trying to keep his voice down. “I thought Serpents were supposed to look out for each other. That’s why it’s in the fucking code. Not ask you to do something like _this._ ”

“It’s just how it works in here, Jones.” Sweet Pea hisses right back, that temper of his flaring like a small bonfire and Jughead squares his shoulders against the urge to shrink back form the flames. “Those guys are putting their necks out to keep us safe, so if they ask for a little favor in return, you do it!”

“This is not a _little favor_.” Jughead bursts out, incredulous. “It’s _stabbing someone_! There’s got to be another way. We don’t need them! There are enough of us that it won’t be so bad, if we just stick together.”

Sweet Pea gives him a hard look, mouth curled up in an ugly snarl. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Jones. I made that same mistake once and I’m sure as Hell never making it again.”

With that, Sweet Pea shrugs Jughead’s hand off and, after a glance around to make sure the coast is still clear, marches on, shoulders stiff and big hands curled into fists.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do except stand there like an idiot and stare after him, wide-eyed and haunted and feeling utterly inconsequential. He could call out to the guards, pull them in to stop this madness before it happens, but the look in Sweet Pea’s eyes when he’d said that last thing, it freezes him to the spot. He’s never seen Sweet Pea like that and it scares him, even if he hates himself for his own cowardice.

Out near the bleachers a commotion breaks loose as the Ghoulie collapses and the guards rush over. Sweet Pea, slinking away unnoticed, drops something into the grass as he walks and then shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweater to hide the blood on them.

~*~*~

After the incident in the yard, everyone is made to return to their cells for an early lock-down. The guards give a halfhearted attempt at finding the culprit, petting each of them down to look for weapons before they step into their cells, but not at all surprisingly, nothing turns up. Even if that works in their favor this time, Jughead thinks bitterly, it’s another piece of proof to how corrupt this whole institution really is.

He feels lightheaded and sick to his stomach, both from the hunger and from the way Sweet Pea keeps staring off into the distance, head held high and shoulders squared, but refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

As soon as the bars to their cell clank shut behind them, Sweet Pea turns to the sink above the toilet in the corner and starts to scrub at his hands, the water that sloshes into the drain stained pink. For once, Jughead has no idea what to say.

No-body tells them whether or not the Ghoulie is going to make it.

~*~*~

That night, after lights out, Jughead lays awake in his bunk facing the wall, his back turned towards Sweet Pea, who refused to say a word for the remainder of the evening, opting to just ignore Jughead completely and sit there brooding instead. He shivers under his blanket, it’s too thin to be much of a shield against the chill, just as he’d predicted and he’s too hungry and too worked up to fall asleep.

Here in the dark, everything feels so much worse, the gravity of all that went down today, the stark reality of where he is and the fact that he has no idea how long it’s going to be until he sees the outside world again, settles onto his chest. A crushing weight that makes it hard to breathe. He feels lost, unmoored, a boat without an anchor caught in a storm and it’s scary and miserable and really, really fucked up.

The worst part, though, is when the _noises_ start up.

At first it’s low, groans and grunts and the rustling of cloth against cloth, sneaker soles shuffling over concrete, like whoever’s responsible for making them is trying to keep it quiet, but some of it gets more prominent quickly enough. Jughead can’t really pin where exactly it’s coming form, all over the place, it seems like, from different cells all along the block. And for a moment he’s confused as to what’s going on, until eventually, he gets it.

It’s people fucking in the dark, in their cells.

And while some of it sounds like it might be consensual, a lot of it doesn’t. There are no screams or loud struggles or anything so dramatic, but it’s not that hard to distinguish how someone sounds who’s enjoying sex form how someone does, who isn’t. Jughead may not have any firsthand experience on the matter (of having sex), but it’s not exactly rocket science.

Further down the hallway, a kid starts crying, muffled but carrying none the less.

Jughead curls up further and presses his hands over his ears, trying to shut it all out, but it’s useless. He can feel his breathing quicken, his heartbeat kick up as he squeezes his eyes shut, a rope around his chest being pulled tighter until he feels lightheaded with the rising panic. He’s never had to deal with this particular brand of awfulness before, thank God, at least not firsthand and it seems like more than he knows how to handle now.

He startles badly, jerked out of his downward spiral when something solid hits his shoulder, bounces off of the wall in front of him and from there directly onto his face upsetting the bruise on the bridge of his nose. Bewildered, Jughead gropes for it in the gloom, only to realize that it’s a roll of fucking toilet paper.

“Hey!” He pushes himself up onto his elbows so that he can glare back over his shoulder at Sweet Pea, who’s laying on his bunk with his back turned towards Jughead, like he didn’t just use toilet paper as a damn projectile for God knows what reason. “What the fuck, Sweet Pea?”

Sweet Pea mumbles something too low for Jughead to catch and Jughead’s scowl deepens with his irritation.

“What?” He snaps, losing his patience.

“I _said_.” Sweet Pea repeats, louder this time and sounding about as pissed as Jughead feels. “Wad some of it up and stuff it into your ears. It helps. Maybe then you can stop freaking out for long enough to go the fuck to sleep.”

‘Oh’, Jughead thinks, dumbfounded, staring at Sweet Pea’s back like that’ll be enough to figure the guy out. Nothing else happens, though.

So Jughead huffs out a breath and drops back onto his sorry excuse for a pillow. He tears off some of the paper, balls it up and shoves it into his ears until most of the noises dim down enough for him to pretend like he’s not hearing them. It’s kind of uncomfortable, but it really does help. For a moment, he contemplates tossing the roll of toilet paper back at Sweet Pea, just because. He gives up on the notion, though, and places it on the little shelf above his head, next to his spare set of clothes. Then he curls back up on his bunk and closes his eyes, tries to pretend like he’s back in his dad’s trailer.

Like he got back from school, did his homework, put in some time to work on his novel, had dinner alone on the couch while watching a new episode of True Crime, and then fell into bed, an honest kind of tired that lends itself well to a good night’s sleep. The illusion doesn’t come easy and the hunger gnawing at his gut makes it harder, but it does come and, eventually, he drifts off, though he remains restless throughout the night and his dreams are darker and more confusing than usual.

~*~*~


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have another one.  
> Hope you're enjoying the holidays. ~
> 
> It's not perfect, but I did my best. 
> 
> Have fun with it <3

~*~*~

Waking up and finding that he’s still in Juvy, that the whole thing wasn’t just some awful nightmare, some figment of his overactive imagination, feels almost as bad as lying in the dark last night trying to fall asleep had. At point 6 am the overhead lights flick on in the whole block and the doors to the cells, automated, click open 15 minutes later. It’s a harsh way to be torn out of sleep and Jughead’s heart skips a beat, then comes back double-time at the way it startles him. He had _not_ been expecting that and it sure as Hell doesn’t serve to brighten his mood any.

He feels wrung out and ill-tempered, head sleep-foggy and stomach so empty it’s starting to cramp, nausea persistent and powerful as he struggles to his feet and pulls the wads of toilet paper out of his ears. From the looks of it, Sweet Pea isn’t faring much better, but he’s quick to hide it behind his customary glare. For the most part he just continues to ignore Jughead, but lightens up a bit, when Fangs and the other Serpents join them in the hall.

Jughead tries his best to ignore the sting he feels at that, the way it makes him think that in Sweet Pea’s eyes he’s still not _really_ a part of the gang, like he’s still not proven himself worthy or something. Like Sweet Pea still thinks Jughead belongs on the Northside with his Northside friends instead of with the Serpents, even after everything Jughead went through to prove him wrong, and it just serves to remind Jughead that these kids have known each other for a long time, that most of them are Serpents by blood, that they grew up around the gang and for them feeling like they belong is natural. Easy in a way it never was for Jughead, not on the Northside growing up and not now on the Southside either, no matter that he really is trying. He’s been caught up in this weird balancing act between the two parts of town his whole life, trying to figure out how to be a part of both but really managing with neither.

He kind of misses Toni. It’s easier with her around. Her he feels like he knows, at least a little, the closest thing to a friend he has on the Southside, an intermediary of sorts between him and the others, while the rest of the teen Serpents are still more strangers, than not. And while Sweet Pea’s outright hostility towards his presence is slowly tapering off into a surly sort of skepticism, it’s still a far cry from acceptance. It’s an unhappy train of though and Jughead tries to move past it as they trudge along with a slew of other juvenile delinquents.

The mess hall is big and bleak, just like you’d expect, with tables and benches screwed to the floor, plastic trays and cutlery that looks like it’ll snap if you look at it sideways, everything kept in the same depressing gray as their uniforms. At least the prospect of finally getting some food into his system serves to better Jughead’s mood somewhat. It’s about time, too. He’s starting to feel dizzy with hunger and he knows from experience that his body’s probably going to pull a very embarrassing 16th-century-heroin-esque fainting move on him, if it goes on for much longer and he’d kind of really like to avoid that. It sure as Hell wouldn’t serve to make him look any tougher, not to mention the sheer humiliation of it.

It happened to him once, in middle school, right in the hallway during lunch break, after he’d not eaten for 36 hours or so, and both Archie and Betty had refused to leave his side for the rest of the day. Shooting him those looks that were half worry, half pity, while Reggie and his jock buddies gave him shit for it for the rest of the damn year. He’d never wished for the ability to make himself invisible quite that powerfully. Never mind that it had been his dad’s fault for forgetting to stock up the fridge for two days straight.

He follows the rest of the Serpents, Sweet Pea at the forefront, mimics what they’re doing as they get in line for the food counter, grab their trays and fiddle with their paper napkins as they wait.

Breakfast itself is another worn and weary cliche, as a lot of things around here are turning out to be. It’s bland and kind of disgusting looking, oatmeal that’s still half frozen in the middle, a couple slices of soggy toast, a cup of pre-packed fruit mix with too much sugar in it, no coffee. But, while it may not be great, it’s still not the worst Jughead’s had so far and he’s hungry enough to not care all that much either way, even if the lack of caffeine in the foreseeable future has him feeling kind of mournful. He once spent two weeks in a row living off of nothing but canned ravioli, the cheep kind that tastes like cardboard with a splash of watery tomato sauce, because his dad had disappeared to God knows where without telling him shit and not left any money for groceries behind. FP had showed up after those two weeks looking like Hell warmed over and refusing to talk about any of it.

So, sure, Jughead would take burgers at Pop’s over this any day, but as long as he has food in his belly, he sees no real reason to complain. It sits a little heavily, a little queasily, in his empty stomach, but he knows the feeling will pass and he’ll be better after.

Apparently there’s a table that the Serpents have claimed as theirs, somewhere near the back of the mess hall with Darwin and the rest of the guys they met last night already gathered around it, just as there’s one that Jughead presumes is occupied solely by Ghoulies. They all look kind of rundown and scruffy, dangerous in an unpredictable kind of way. Most of them have a lot of tattoos but one motive sticks out by turning up especially often, a stylized cross turned upside-down, and Jughead figures that’s their gang sign or something. It sure as Hell fits the stereotype and Jughead just so manages to keep himself from rolling his eyes at it. He takes care to give the table a wide birth, the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms prickling uncomfortably with the feeling of being watched.

The fact that Sweet Pea fucking s _tabbed_ one of them last night probably didn’t exactly endear them to the Serpents any. From what Jughead has gathered it’s glaringly obvious that the two gangs don’t get along on the outside. Add the pressure cooker effect of a place like Juvy into the mix and voila, you’ve got all the makings of a gang war just waiting to break out.

There’s that same subtle threat of violence thrumming right beneath the surface, making the air feel just that bit thicker, like an electrical current running through a poorly insulated power line and it makes Jughead want to pull up his shoulders and duck his head. He resists the urge though, slouching a little more than usual the only thing he allows himself. In a place like this, you really don’t want to make yourself look smaller or weaker than you are, he thinks and deepens his scowl some more, doing his best to look off-putting. He’s not sure it works, though, going by the doubtful look he can see Sweet Pea give him out of the corner of his eyes.

~*~*~

After breakfast, they all head out to the yard again. It has all the makings of a tired old ritual and Jughead suspects that it’s part of the rhythm of this place. Part of that bleak sameness that makes one day blend into the next until it all becomes a soul-draining, mind-numbing, seemingly endless circle you’d just as soon claw your eyes out to escape from. It makes Jughead think of his dad, again, mind wandering aimlessly as the other Serpents try to pass the time with light conversations, that Jughead tunes out of almost immediately, bored and antsy at the same time.

It seems like Sweet Pea and Darwin know each other well enough to be chummy with one another. Although Jughead can’t help, but notice that, while Sweet Pea tries to act at ease, laughing at Darwin’s jokes and jabbing back good-naturedly, there’s still that same sort of weariness, of tension about him that makes Jughead think he doesn’t 100% trust Darwin. The guy did make Sweet Pea _stab_ a kid, just because he felt like it. That’s not the kind of guy you wanna let your guard down around, no matter how jovial he may act, Jughead thinks.

Plus, there’s that thing that Sweet Pea said, just before he marched off, that keeps plopping up in Jughead’s thoughts. And Jughead can’t help but wonder what it was that’d happened, what memory it is that’s making Sweet Pea this volatile, this willing to resort to violence, an uncomfortably amped-up version of his outside self, shoulders stiff and one eye kept out for potential trouble always.

Even knowing that it’s probably fake, though, it’s still a bit jarring to see Sweet Pea with anything other than the customary scowl, the moody sort of barely contained anger Jughead has become so well acquainted with.

It’s not like Jughead hasn’t caught glimpses of the more relaxed, more happy side of him before, whenever Sweet Pea is amongst his friends, but as soon as he notices Jughead’s presence, his easy smile falls away and his guard goes back up. It really makes Jughead wonder how much Sweet Pea hates him to be like that.

Sweet Pea actually looks kind of cute, when he’s not glaring daggers at everyone around him, Jughead thinks, unbidden, and as soon as he catches himself, he can feel the blood rush to his face and he looks away quickly before anyone can notice. He does his best to find something else to think about and, for the most part he succeeds.

He ends up staring off into space, pretty much bored out of his mind, idly wondering how much longer it’ll be ‘till dinner. It’s not like breakfast isn’t just barely over, but he hadn’t eaten for more than 24 hours prior to that and his stomach feels like it’s burned through most of the food already. Besides, ‘hungry’ is kind of his default mode.

It startles the Hell out of him, almost making him topple out of his seat with the way he flinches when Sweet Pea’s hand snags his wrist in a grip tight enough to hurt and rudely shoves it down to the bench between them.

“Can you stop twirling your stupid hair, like you’re some kind of fucking Disney princess? What the Hell is wrong with you?” Sweet Pea hisses at him, an explosive burst of anger that catches Jughead completely by surprise.

“What’s wrong with _me_?” Jughead spits right back, hurt and surprise turned to anger of his own.

Sweet Pea huffs and lets go of Jughead’s wrist, but still looks plenty pissed off. “People are starting to stare, _idiot._ ”

‘Oh’, Jughead thinks, bewildered, as he glances around and realizes that it’s kind of true. He’d been playing with his hair without even really being aware of it, a nervous tick that manifests itself, when his beanie isn’t there to deter him. People really are _looking_ at him, in a way that makes his stomach sink and his skin crawl and he snaps his gaze back to the Serpents around the table, his hands on his thighs, clutching at the fabric of his sweats to keep them still.

Everyone’s gone kind of quiet, staring at him and Sweet Pea and he swallows nervously. “Sorry?”

Darwin’s got one thoughtful eyebrow raised, like he’s trying to figure something out and it feels kind of intense when he catches Jughead’s gaze. “You might just turn out to be trouble, kid.” He muses, throwing a sideways glance at Sweet Pea.

“I –“ Jughead starts, not sure what to say to that, not entirely sure what Darwin _means_ in the first place. “I’ll do my best to keep my head down?”

Darwin snorts at that, amused, though at what exactly Jughead couldn’t say. “You do that, _darling_.”

The endearment has Jughead bristle, frown deepening, and his mouth is falling open to shoot something back, before his brain’s caught up with it entirely, but Sweet Pea stops him before he can get the words out. By clamping a wide, slightly chilly palm over Jughead’s mouth, of all things, and glaring at him. “Shut up.” He warns, voice low and intimidating.

Jughead glowers at him, indignant and, just to piss him off, darts his tongue out to lick Sweet Pea’s palm, tasting salt and traces of soap. It has the desired effect, Sweet Pea yanks his hand away like he’s been burnt and wipes it across his sweatpants hurriedly, but instead of looking disgusted, his face just goes kind of red and he’s quick to look away. He blatantly ignores Jughead for the rest of their time in the yard, quietly fuming, leaving Jughead confused and even more lost to his thoughts than before. He catches himself, though, before his hand can wander up to his hair again. God, he wishes he had his beanie with him so badly. He can _still_ feel people’s eyes on him.

~*~*~

Lunch consists of what Jughead thinks is supposed to be lasagna, but only resembles the actual thing vaguely. By the time they sit down to eat, though, his stomach’s grumbling again and he happily attacks the lukewarm, weirdly textured glob on his tray, the other’s giving him skeptical sideways glances. Wondering about his enthusiasm, perhaps. Sure, it tastes like whoever cooked it up was allergic to spice in general, or something, but it’s food, so whatever.

Jughead’s half tuned into, half tuned out of the conversations around him, when one word in particular, out of context, catches his attention.

“Wait, this place has a _library_?” He blurts out around a mouthful of lasagna and one of Darwin’s pals stops short in the telling of his anecdote to stare at Jughead, perplexed.

“Well, yeah.” The guy (Bubblegum, or something similarly ridiculous, Jughead thinks he said his name was, though Jughead probably shouldn’t be the one casting stones here) says, eyebrows scrunching up, taken aback a little. “But like I _said,_ all people ever use it for is to hook up or to get high. It’s not exactly the friendliest of places.”

Jughead looks at him, incredulous, his food forgotten for the moment. “You have a _library_ and all people use it for is sex and doing drugs.” He blurts out. All things considered, he shouldn’t even be surprised, but it’s still hard not to feel personally offended by the concept. This is what the world has come to, apparently.

“Well, what’s the alternative?” Bubblegum asks, arms crossed in front of his chest, sounding kind of defensive about it. “ _Reading?_ ”

Jughead just stares back at him, at a loss for words, like maybe the intensity of his indignation can somehow, miraculously, beat some sense into the guy. Sadly, it doesn’t look like it’s working.

Darwin huffs and raises an eyebrow at Jughead, the look on his face somewhere between amused and annoyed. Intrigued maybe, if Jughead’s pushing his interpretation a little. “If you wanna check it out that badly, you should go. Just not alone. Unless _getting fucked_ is what you’re looking to do. But you kind of seem like you’d be the one guy in here who’d actually want go there for the books.”

Sweet Pea frowns at Darwin and Jughead’s not sure, if that last part’s supposed to be an insult or not. It’s kind of hard to tell with Darwin. Jughead’s having a tough time getting a read on the guy and it makes Jughead even more weary of him.

He opts for the safest path and decides to ignore Darwin’s insinuations altogether. “I’d really like to check it out.” He says carefully, watching himself drag his fork through the rest of his lasagna, trying really hard not to sound as excited at the prospect, as he feels, his leg bouncing up and down underneath the table.

“I’ll come with you, then. Haven’t been down to those parts in a while. Should be interesting at least.” Darwin says and Jughead lifts his gaze just enough so that he can glance up at him from underneath his bangs. Darwin looks back at him with a crooked grin on his face, Bubblegum frowning at Darwin from across the table.

“Count me in.” Sweet Pea grumbles, sounding pissed about it, his foul mood back with a vengeance, it seems. Jughead jumps a little, when Sweet Pea’s hand drops onto his knee and squeezes none too gently until Jughead sucks in a breath and stills his leg.

Jughead pointedly glares at him, but Sweet Pea falls back into one of the two defaults he has with Jughead, apparently, and continues to ignore him. It’s kind of infuriating.

“I guess, I’ll be coming with, too?” Fangs says, sounding unsure and giving Sweet Pea a look, like he’s not entirely figured out what’s going on either. ‘Welcome to the club’, Jughead thinks moodily and goes back to his food. He refuses to let Sweet Pea and his antics ruin the excitement he feels at the prospect of getting his hands on something to read, though.

He doesn’t even notice that Sweet Pea’s palm is still on his knee until Sweet Pea finally pulls it away and the cold rushes back in to replace its warmth. It feels weird, the warmth gone, and weirder still that Jughead misses it in the first place. He scrunches up his nose and shovels another fork-full of lasagna into his mouth, trying not to think too hard about it.

~*~*~

Darwin says it’s probably best, if they don’t wait until it gets too late to go, so they head out to the library right after lunch, the rest of the Serpents adhering to their normal schedule and trudging back out to the yard instead.

The closer they get to the library, the more Jughead begins to understand, why people have started seeking it out for matters that do well with privacy. It’s located pretty much at the back end of the prison, far enough away form the rest of the facilities to almost feel isolated, one long stretch of hallway the only way to and from. The atmosphere grows thicker, unfriendlier, as they approach and when a group of Ghoulies, judging by their tattoos, stalk out of the huge double doors that lead to the library and start heading towards them in the hall, Jughead begins to wonder if this was such a good idea after all.

Darwin and Sweet Pea make up the front of their little progression, both of them tall and broad enough to be easily imposing, but the Ghoulies outnumber them and even though neither Sweet Pea nor Darwin seem overly concerned, Jughead can see Fangs narrow his eyes in anticipation, shoulders pulling up defensively. Jughead holds his breath as the Ghoulies walk past them and for a moment it actually looks like nothing’s going to happen.

But then, one of the Ghoulies passing by gives Jughead, who’s last in their little progression, a mean grin, winks at him and shoots out his foot. Taken by surprise, Jughead is too slow to avoid it and, tripping over it, he goes down hard and gracelessly, hitting his elbow on the cold concrete floor in the process of trying to break his fall. The pain shoots up his arm like an electric shock. It knocks the air right out of his lungs and he curls in on himself with his arm pressed to his chest protectively, trying to catch his breath as his eyes water.

The next thing he knows, Darwin has the Ghoulie pinned to the wall with an arm across his throat, snarling at him, Sweet Pea two steps behind Darwin and Fangs crouching at Jughead’s side, trying to figure out, if he’s OK.

“I’m fine!” Jughead presses out through clenched teeth as he struggles back to his feet with Fang’s help, his arm burning furiously, but desperate to defuse the situation. Sweet Pea glances back at him, brows furrowed and eyes bright with barely contained anger, and that’s when Jughead sees one of the other Ghoulies pull something sharp and pointy out of the waistband of his sweats and draw back his arm to strike.

Jughead just barely has enough time to grab Sweet Pea’s sweater with his good arm and yank him backwards as hard as he can. Sweet Pea stumbles along, caught by surprise, the both of them hitting the wall at their back together with Sweet Pea half on top of Jughead and knocking the breath right out of him for the second time. The shiv slashes through the air instead of Sweet Pea’s stomach and the Ghoulie staggers with his unexpected momentum. Fangs seizes the opening, surges in and socks the Ghoulie in the chin hard enough to make him hit the ground in a graceless heap, shiv slipping from his hand and clattering across the floor, out of reach.

His pals hurry over to help the guy to his feet, blood dribbling across his chin, and rush off down the hall, away form them. Darwin growls a warning at the last of them, “Do something like that again and I’ll break your fucking neck. You’re lucky no-one’s dead right now.”, and then shoves him after his friends, stands there and watches as they run. Once they’re out of sight, Darwin scans the ground for the shiv, spots it, gathers it up and slips it up his sleeve like he had with the one yesterday.

“Shit like that hasn’t happened in a while. Those undead assholes are getting unruly. Maybe they need another reminder of where their fucking place is.” Darwin grumbles and shakes himself like a dog shedding water, trying to disperse the adrenaline rush, perhaps, then turns to eye the rest of them. “Anyone hurt?”

Sweet Pea pushes away from where he’s half crushing Jughead against the wall, looking a little rattled, but shakes his head ‘no’ and Jughead breathes a quiet sigh of relief. That had been way too close for comfort. Fangs mimics Sweet Pea’s gesture and Darwin’s eyes fall on Jughead, who’s still cradling his arm to his chest carefully, and he raises an eyebrow at him.

The initial pain is subsiding slowly, dulled down to a rhythmic throb and Jughead shrugs to play it off, embarrassed about the whole deal and kind of shaken up. “I’ll live.” He says, trying for sarcastic but falling somewhat short.

“Let me see.” Darwin says in a tone that doesn’t leave much room for argument and reaches out a hand, fingers beckoning. Jughead reluctantly complies, letting go of his arm and holding it out gingerly, wincing a little at the way moving it hurts. Darwin takes hold of his wrist, fingers cool against Jughead’s skin, and uses his other hand to push up the sleeve of Jughead’s sweater. Jughead grimaces at seeing the dark bruise that’s formed around the tip of his elbow and Darwin whistles softly as he twists Jughead’s arm a little to take it in.

“You might wanna hold your breath for a second.” Darwin says and that’s all the warning Jughead gets before Darwin’s fingers are pressing into the bruise, feeling along the bone and Jughead would be embarrassed at the high-pitched sound he makes at that, if it didn’t hurt so damn much. He tries to jerk away, but Darwin’s grip tightens on his wrist and holds him still until Darwin is satisfied and pulls his fingers away again.

Jughead yanks his arm back as soon as Darwin lets go of him and glares at him, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “What the fuck was that for?”

Darwin holds his arms up defensively and actually has the gall to grin at him. “Just checking to see if anything’s broken. But it doesn’t look like it. So no worries, princess, just leave it alone and it’ll take care of itself.”

Jughead can feel his blood boil at the nickname, temper flaring and he’s about to start slinging insults right back at the asshole, when Sweet Pea shoves him hard enough to make him stumble. A gesture meant to be friendly maybe, but missing it’s mark by quite a bit, one hand fisting into the fabric of Jughead’s sweater near his shoulder to keep him from toppling over. Then he uses that grip to pull Jughead along as Sweet Pea turns towards the library and starts walking again. “Come on. Let’s get your stupid books and get out of here. Before anything else goes fucking sideways.”

Jughead’s too blindsided to do anything but shuffle along like a damn puppet. Fangs hurries after them, looking like he’s about ready deck someone, again, arms crossed in front of his chest and mumbling something unintelligible under his breath.

It takes a moment, but eventually Darwin follows them, too. When Jughead glances back out of the corner of his eye, the look on Darwin’s face is unreadable.

~*~*~

In the end the library is mostly empty, thank God, but it’s dusty and gloomy and there are a lot of dark corners Jughead very deliberately stays away from. There’s the distinct scent of mold in the air, making it feel stuffy and pressing and it kind of breaks Jughead’s heart knowing that there are all these books sitting around, slowly decaying while people muck about punching needles into their arms or getting each other off. Jughead’s not sure when the last time was that somebody felt it necessary to crack open a window. There’s not even anyone working here, no system of checking books in and out. You just take what you want and maybe you bring it back or you don’t. Nobody gives a fuck. Although it doesn’t really seem like books not being returned is all that big a problem when nobody’s taking them in the first place.

The place is about as poorly stocked as Jughead had feared, but he finds a couple of books he can content himself with anyways in his hurried search. ‘The Stand’ by Steven King, ‘Mindhunter’ by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker and ‘The silence of the lambs’ by Thomas Harris. Jughead’s read all of them before, some multiple times, but at least he knows that they’re good and that they’ll keep him occupied for a while. There’s no telling when or if he’ll be able to get back here, since this visit is going so fucking well already. They feel good in his hands, the paper yellowed and stained in a way that makes his chest ache slightly, but still solid and real, familiar, comforting. Something to hold on to fiercely.

~*~*~

Jughead spends the rest of the afternoon sitting in the yard with the others, his nose buried in ‘The Stand’, trying to ignore the way his elbow hurts regardless of what he does (a dull, persistent throbbing when he holds it still, a sharper stab of discomfort whenever he moves it), while the rest of the Serpents chat over a game of cards. Bubblegum had pulled the playing cards out of one of the pockets of his sweater earlier and brandished them like some sort of grand prize with a big grin on his face.

Even with that, though, it’s hard to miss that the atmosphere has chanced since their little unfriendly encounter with the Ghoulies on their way to the library. Everyone around the table is sitting just that little bit straighter, their posture just that little bit more stiff, one eye out towards the rest of the yard. Especially to where the Ghoulies are milling around on the bleachers near the basketball court, casting them furtive, ill-tempered looks. And the rest of the inmates are picking up on it, too, eyes weary and attentive, at the ready to get their butts out of harms way or to surge in and snatch at easy pickings should anything go down.

If Jughead’s going with his previous metaphor that this place resembles a pressure cooker, then right now it feels like someone’s steadily turning up the heat and he wonders nervously how far from exploding they really are. It’s fucked up and it scares him, but he doesn’t know what to do to make it better except try to stay out of trouble as best he can. At least reading helps to keep his mind off of things. It’s always been his escape of choice. That and movies, but before he started working at the Drive-In movies used to be a lot less easily accessible to him than books were, the living room and the TV firmly his father’s domain, and he developed his love for reading early.

He remembers countless nights curled up under his blanket with a flashlight in hand, his head sandwiched between his folded up pillow to block out the sounds of yelling and breaking glass, of his parents fighting one room over, as he trudged through sewers with a band of outcasts bravely facing nightmare clowns or accompanied two brothers as they risked their lives solving mysteries in settings eerily familiar. Now as much as then he clings to that well worn comfort of the written word to tide him over for as long as he’s unable to write himself.

Somewhere in the back of his mind the song ‘Don’t fear the Reaper’ by BÖC keeps replaying itself over and over.

~*~*~

By the time dinner finally comes around, Jughead is actively wondering if there’s any way around here to procure some extra food. Because he’s pretty sure he won’t get through his stay here without wearing everyone’s nerves dangerously thin the way his stomach’s grumbling again. It’s not like the serving sizes are uncommonly small or anything, he just has a really quick metabolism and while he usually remedies that by seizing any opportunity that presents itself to get his hands on snack foods of any shape or form, he doesn’t really have that option here.

It’s not like Jughead isn’t used to going hungry, this is by far not the worst he’s been through, but it still is kind of annoying. Sweet Pea keeps shooting him these looks whenever Jughead’s stomach growls loud enough for him to hear, somewhere between incredulous and irritated and it makes Jughead want to curl in on himself and hide.

~*~*~

As it turns out, in here, showering is a group activity, too.

Jughead is both relieved and really, really uncomfortable at the same time. Logically he knows that going together is the only option here. Even without taking into consideration every prison related cliche in the history of ever, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this is where bad stuff is likely to happen if you don’t watch your back, regardless of how fucked up that may be. And that thought alone is enough to make his gut twist and slither with nerves and to make him want to duck his head and stick closer to the rest of the Serpents.

But.

He really, really hates the prospect of having to get naked in front of the others. Not like when they where out in the yard being processed, where everyone was doing their best to protect each other’s dignity with their eyes trained studiously up ahead of them, but in a setting where people might actually look at him.

There’s a story there, an unease born of years and years of relentless verbal abuse. He stopped using the locker room showers after P.E. in middle school because it got so bad. Most of it coming from the football team, as was par for the course when it came to a great deal of the bullshit he’d been forced to endure.

On a purely intellectual level, Jughead knows that there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with how he looks. Sure he’s always been more on the skinny side, scrawny even, during the height of his last real growth spurt, but that’s, theoretically, nothing to be ashamed of. And he’s filled out a little since then, built up some actual muscle, though what from he’s not entirely sure. Maybe it’s because he’s always lugging so much stuff around with him, who knows? The point is, compared to a lot of the other guys, Jughead still falls painfully obviously short when it comes to brawn or physique.

His features are soft, missing the hard edges that you’re supposed to get when you hit puberty as a guy, and his hands are slender, good for typing but not so much for throwing a decent punch or handling a fucking football. Being called girl’s names by his classmates, his dad constantly going on about how he’s so much like his mom… It’s like all this time he’s been waiting for something to happen, some over-night miracle that’ll suddenly have him feel less lacking, that will stop others from looking at him and pegging him as _weak,_ as _inept,_ but it never did.

Again, it’s not like he hates who he is, he doesn’t really mind not being one of those testosterone-fueled macho assholes, like the Reggie Mantles of this world, is actually kind of glad that he’s not to be honest, he just wishes he could change what other’s see in him. At least sometimes.

Becoming part of the Serpents, putting on that leather jacket, it’d made him feel different for the first time. Stronger, more confident, more dangerous. An edge he’d been missing all his life. And now, in here, it’s all gone again, stripped from him, all of his protective layers taken away to leave him feeling small and exposed.

He’s not stupid, he gets the implications of the way he looks in this particular setting, especially with the bruises on his face, a pushover, an _easy target_ , everything he’s trying so hard to get away from. And he hates it with a visceral, miserable kind of intensity.

So he tries to be as quick about it as he can, does his best to keep his head down, to not let himself be disheartened by the fact that everyone of the Serpents with him is either taller or broader, or both, than him. Tries not to acknowledge the glances he gets or the way Darwin touches his shoulder, proprietorial, like he’s trying to make a point, Jughead’s skin crawling beneath his fingers. Or how Sweet Pea sticks close throughout the whole deal, acting like he thinks Jughead _needs_ that sort of protection, like he thinks Jughead can’t handle himself, like he’s some fucking dame to be hovered over.

His standing with the Serpents wasn’t the best to begin with, but it kind of feels like his chances of being taken seriously are dwindling, slipping through his fingers like a fist full of sand, the longer he’s in this fucking place. He hates all of it so fucking much and it makes exactly no difference at all.

At leas the showers are divided into individual stalls. Stalls with actual curtains, moldy and kind of gross but good enough to offer some privacy. Which is pretty much a God-sent at this point. Darwin makes a point of telling him not to dawdle and that doesn’t exactly help Jughead’s growing dislike of the guy, but he listens anyway. No matter how good it feels to scrub off the grime of the last two days, the water, surprisingly, hot enough to chase away some of the perpetual chill of this place.

~*~*~

There are two hours between regular lock-down and lights-out and Jughead plans on spending them sitting cross-legged on his cot with his back leaning against the chilly concrete wall and his nose buried firmly in his book. If Sweet Pea prefers to ignore him, then the least Jughead can do is do him the same kind of courtesy. And Sweet Pea is so quiet, that he can almost pretend like he’s alone, like his stomach starting to make noise about food again isn’t something that should be making his face heat up with embarrassment.

It doesn’t take long, though, until Jughead can hear Sweet Pea sigh, long suffering, from the bunk across from his and a moment later, after some rustling, something hard and crinkly hits him in the forehead and bounces off to land in his lap.

“Ouch. What the fuck, Sweet Pea?” Jughead glares at Sweet Pea, exasperated, then at his own lap, trying to figure out what it fucking was that Sweet Pea lugged at him _this time_. It didn’t exactly hurt, not badly anyway, Sweet Pea took enough care to avoid that apparently, but it still gets Jughead’s hackles up in no time. He grabs for the thing on his thigh only to realize, bemused, that it’s a chocolate bar, of all things. “Uhm, thank you?” Jughead tries, still irritated but taken aback enough to let confusion get the upper hand as he frowns at Sweet Pea.

“Bubblegum knows a guy, who works in the kitchen.” Sweat Pea offers like that’s any kind of explanation, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest. “I honestly have no idea where a guy as skinny as you puts all that food in the first place, but your stomach growling _all the fucking time_ is driving me kind of crazy.”

Jughead’s eyes narrow and he’s sucking in a breath for a retort, stuck somewhere between embarrassed and pissed, but Sweet Pea cuts him off.

“Besides.” Sweet Pea mumbles, almost low enough that Jughead doesn’t catch it, but then he gets a hold of himself, squares his shoulders and raises his chin like it’s a challenge. “I kind of owe you for earlier. I’d probably still be picking my guts off the floor if you hadn’t pulled me back.”

‘Oh’, Jughead thinks and deflates a little, sagging against the wall at his back, the chocolate bar cradled loosely in his hand as he carefully puts down his book. He shrugs, trying to downplay it. “It was basically just a reflex.”

“Yeah, well.” Sweet Pea says, eyes narrowed and leaning forward a little, looking sincere. “You might not, but I take shit like that seriously.”

It’s weird, but Jughead can feel a strange sort of warmth spread through his chest at that. He did something and it actually made a difference. This might just be the first time Sweet Pea’s looking at him like he’s actually seeing Jughead as anything other than a nuisance or a liability. And Jughead kind of really likes it, although he’s not 100% sure what to do with it. All he does know is, that he kind of wants more of that.

“How’s your arm?” Sweet Pea asks, casual and kind of guarded, like he’s trying to make an effort but isn’t entirely sure how it’ll go over with Jughead.

Jughead doesn’t want to sound like a total wuss, so he tries to play it cool and shrugs, tries not to wince at the way the motion pulls at the tender places around his elbow. “No big deal.”

Sweet Pea snorts, like he can see right through him, but doesn’t say anything to call Jughead out on it and Jughead has to duck his head a little at the way he can feel the color creep back onto his face.

The silence that falls after that is one that lingers. Jughead may be good with words when it comes to writing, but he’s never been great at socializing. He doesn’t much see the point in wasting his time on small talk with a bunch of people that are likely to bore the Hell out of him, the instances in which he meets someone who honestly piques his interest far and few between. So he finds himself at a loss now, no real idea on how to keep the conversation going even though it kind of feels important that he does.

Surprisingly, Sweet Pea’s the one, who saves Jughead from the conundrum of having to come up with something to say himself, nodding in the direction of the book Jughead’s been reading. “Isn’t there, like, a movie with the same title or something?”

Sweet Pea still sounds kind of gruff, like it’s more of an accusation than a question, but Jughead decides to chalk that up to Sweet Pea’s charming personality and ignores the tone of his words in favor of blinking at him. Jughead does his best to keep any inflection out of his voice when he answers. “A four part mini-series, actually, but yeah. It’s pretty good, all things considered. Unlike plenty of other movie adaptions of King’s books. You watch it?”

Sweet Pea gives a curt little nod, a bit stiff, but slowly warming up to the topic it feels like. “The guy who was supposed to be the devil or something, he was pretty bad-ass.”

“Jamie Sheridan? Yeah, he wasn’t bad. Did a pretty good job. Though I kind of liked Gary Sinise better, I think.” Jughead says, unable to help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. He carefully adds, “You into movies?”

Sweet Pea lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “Some.”

“Like what?” Jughead asks, genuinely curious now. He tears open the wrapper of the chocolate bar and takes a careful bite. It’s a little stale, but still pretty good and it really helps to brighten his mood some more, a sugar high in the making.

“I don’t know.” Sweet Pea glances up at the ceiling, mulling over the question, brows furrowed in thought. “Like the one with the guy with all the tattoos, who’s got amnesia or something and can only remember stuff for like two hours or some shit, and you’re kind of watching the movie backwards?”

“Memento?” Jughead can feel his eyebrows climb up towards his hairline, actually kind of impressed. “That one’s pretty awesome.”

A pleased grin spreads over Sweet Pea’s face, making him look boyishly charming. Jughead quietly decides that he kind of really likes it. “An ex made me watch it and I actually ended up enjoying it. I like it, when movies surprise you, you know? When the ending’s not totally obvious right away. Makes it more fun.”

That makes Jughead huff out a laugh. “Yeah, me too. Otherwise, what’s the point of watching them in the first place, right? It’s too bad that relationship didn’t work out. Because your girlfriend definitely had taste when it came to movies.”

“Boyfriend, actually.” Sweet Pea shoots back, one eyebrow raised, the look on his face so casual it almost seems dangerous.

“Oh.” Jughead blurts out dumbly, taken completely by surprise.

Sweet Pea sits up straighter and pulls back his shoulders, muscles tensing like he’s getting ready for a fight. “You got a problem with that, Jones?” He’s still trying for casual, but it’s clear that he’s just waiting for Jughead to say the wrong thing and that things’ll go sideways fast, if Jughead does.

“No!” Jughead rushes out, hands raised defensively, his face growing hot with the blood rushing in as he stammers on. “I didn’t mean it like that! I don’t mind. I just kind of wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“What? I don’t look the part?” Sweet Pea shoots back, a provocative glint in his eyes.

“I don’t – What – That’s not –“ Jughead’s tripping over his own words in his desperate hurry to save the situation somehow, but his mouth snaps shut and his face pulls into a frown when Sweet Pea huffs out a laugh and drops back into his previous, relaxed posture. Sweet Pea was _teasing_ him, Jughead realizes with a start, frown deepening into a scowl.

“Relax.” Sweet Pea leans back against the wall, a grin on his face, apparently pleased at having gotten Jughead all flustered. “I’m bi, not gay, and I don’t really give a fuck what others think about it. And also, I’m pretty sure I have enough self-control to not molest you in your sleep or something. In case that’s what you’re worried about, _princess._ ”

“You can be such an asshole sometimes.” Jughead feels compelled to tell him, face burning and he takes another bite of the chocolate bar to hide how off balance he feels.

“Says the pretentious pretty boy, who thought he was too good to hang with us until one of the Ghoulies beat him up and he figured he’d stoop down to grace us with his presence after all, because he realized he needed our protection.” Sweet Pea shoots back, only partially teasing now, Jughead thinks and Jughead can’t help the way his words hit home, because Sweet Pea _is_ right.

That’s how it started for him. That’s not the way things are now, though. It took Jughead some time to come around, but ever since he joined the Serpents, he’s been realizing more and more what they are beneath that tough, seedy exterior: a community, a _family._ Something worth belonging to. And through all of it, Jughead is getting to know a side of his dad that had been previously hidden from him. His dad as Serpent leader, the vision his dad had for the gang. Trying to keep them away from the kind of illegal shit other gangs like the Ghoulies were getting up to, trying to keep the gang a safe place for all of its members, somewhere to belong where they wouldn’t be exploited. Trying to keep the peace between the Northside and the Southside for the same reasons. All of those things.

It makes Jughead want to live up to the ideal his father set, to protect it while he’s gone. Even if he can’t help the way it kind of hurts that his dad put that much effort into the Serpents, while his own family was slowly falling apart and he did nothing to save it. That’s something he doesn’t want to let himself dwell on, though, a thought to be pushed away and ignored until other, more pressing matters have been solved. Like getting his dad out of prison. Or, before that, getting himself out of Juvy, he thinks bitterly.

“So I was wrong.” Jughead mumbles, unable to look Sweet Pea in the eye as he says it. It’s not easy to admit, but it’s the truth, so yeah.

Sweet Pea raises an eyebrow at him, surprised at his admission it seems, then huffs out a breath. “Didn’t think you were capable of admitting that.”

“Well.” Jughead says and waves his hands around in frustration, then winces at the way it makes his elbow throb.

“So what was it? You realize we’re not the low-life scumbags you thought we were? Or did you figure out that your Northside friends’ll drop you the first chance they get ‘cause they never thought you were really one of them in the first place? Guess all it took for them to figure out they wanted nothing to do with you was a couple days of you living on the other side of town. It really sucks when people you thought were on your side show their true faces, huh?” Sweet Pea keeps pushing, eyes narrowed, acting like he doesn’t care either way, when it’s so very clear that he _does,_ that there’s still plenty of resentment left about how things went down.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re not like that!” Jughead hisses, the fingers of one hand tightening around the casing of his pillow, anger surging up. Anger at Sweet Pea for being mean about it, even if, maybe, Jughead deserves it, but also at how he’s _right_ about his friends and, even mores so, how Jughead _still_ feels the urge to defend them.

“Could’ve fooled me then.” Sweet shoots back meanly, hands balling into fists where they rest on his thighs. “Cause I was there when your pal dumped you for your girlfriend ‘cause she was too chicken-shit to come to the bad part of town and do it herself, remember? Him telling you to your face what they think of you wasn’t enough? What more proof do you need? They’re fucking _Northsiders_ and they’re never _not_ going to look down on us! If you don’t get that then maybe you’re a lot more stupid than I would have thought.”

“Why do you hate the Northside so fucking much? I get that things aren’t great, I can _see_ that. But that doesn’t mean every person that lives on the Northside is automatically an asshole!” Jughead rushes out, face heating up again, only this time with anger.

“Really?” Sweet Pea gesticulates with his hands in a way that’s supposed to encompass their surroundings, their current situation. “You really think we would be in here right now, if the fucking Northsiders, all of them, weren’t either happy to take a giant fucking dump on us because they outright hate our guts or to sit idly by and let it happen because they just don’t give a shit about us? Whose fault _is_ all of this?”

Jughead _wants_ to sling something back at Sweet Pea, wants to tell him to shove his stupid bias somewhere really uncomfortable, but the thing is, Sweet Pea’s not completely wrong. Regardless of how much Jughead hates to admit it, Sweet Pea has a point. The longer he’s on the Southside for real, the more he understands, the more he sees the unfairness of it all, the systematic discrimination and defamation of its people, the hate and the disdain thrown their way. The looks that they get whenever they dare to set foot in the Northside. The raid on Southside High is just the latest proof of how fucked up the whole thing really is.

But a part of him isn’t ready to admit that yet, not out loud, not to Sweet Pea. He can’t just condemn everyone he used to know like that. There are good people on the Northside, even if Sweet Pea can’t see that, people Jughead owes a lot to.

With a frustrated sigh he flops down on his cot hard enough to make the metal frame creak, grabs his book and rolls onto his side until he’s got his back to Sweet Pea.

He’s too riled up to concentrate on reading, but he’s kind of afraid of where the conversation will head if he continues it, afraid of making things worse. Because it’s clear that neither he nor Sweet Pea are ready to back off of their ways of seeing things and there’s so much anger there. So much resentment that the topic feels like a powder keg while all Jughead’s doing is shooting sparks. He shoves the half-eaten chocolate bar underneath his pillow, too proud and too angry to finish it now, but also too protective of it to toss it back at Sweet Pea. Because Sweet Pea gave it to him. As a ‘thank you’. And that means something. It means a lot.

Behind him, Sweet Pea sighs, sounding frustrated and pissed off, but he doesn’t try to say anything more.

It’s not long after that until the lights go out, all at once, plunging them into darkness and Jughead reaches for the roll of toilet paper still sitting on his shelf, quick to ball some of it up and stuff it into his ears before the noises can start up again.

Sleep doesn’t come any easier than it did the night before.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned is [Don't fear the Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClQcUyhoxTg) and it's from the first part of the mentioned mini-series 'The Stand'. Just in case you were curious ;)


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the tension is slowly but steadily rising, Sweet Pea has the worst timing ever and Jughead is a bit of a drama queen, as per usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I hope this thing works out...  
> Don't look at me.  
> I know what I'm doing.  
> ...  
> Or at least that's what I tell myself to stave off the panicking.  
> It's gotta get worse before it gets better.  
> Enjoy~

~*~*~

As it is, things only keep getting worse. It doesn’t exactly help, that Jughead can’t stop thinking about their conversation last night, about how Sweet Pea had opened up to him, even if just a little and how Jughead’d actually kind of liked it. A lot. Right up until Jughead had fucked it up somehow and they’d gone right back to where they were before. It’s like whenever Jughead gets one step further with Sweet Pea they end up taking two steps back right after. It’s so fucking frustrating because Jughead just doesn’t get what he’s doing wrong. It’s like every other thing Jughead says hits a landmine that has Sweet Pea’s temper going off.

Also, if Jughead were really honest with himself, he’d have to admit, that knowing Sweet Pea is into guys is a thought, that’s kind of stuck on his head. Not because it bothers him, or anything like that. He never gave a damn when it came to Kevin being gay, he doesn’t like judging people based on stupid stuff like that, and who cares, anyway? It’s just that it’s so unexpected. And now that he knows, his mind keeps wanting to picture it, Sweet Pea with a guy and it makes him feel flustered and embarrassed whenever he catches himself, like he’s violating Sweet Pea’s privacy somehow just by thinking about it. And he can’t even really explain _why._

If they weren’t where they are, if they were outside, in the real world, where things have different meanings, different connotations, that would be a thought with the potential to keep him up at night, even if he’s pretty sure that Sweet Pea _still_ hates his guts. But somewhere along the way, Sweet Pea turned from someone Jughead would be just as happy to avoid completely into someone Jughead might actually enjoy getting to know. If he stopped annoying the Hell out of Jughead for, like, five seconds.

In a place like this though, that twists up anything it touches, turns it sour and bitter, darker than it ought to be, Jughead isn’t really sure what to do with it.

Lost in his thoughts, Jughead’s following the rest of the Serpents to their designated table, breakfast tray in hand, a small group of guys moving past them in the opposite direction, when one of those guys steps into Jughead’s way and bumps into Jughead hard enough to tip his tray and smash it against his chest, contents and all. Jughead stumbles back, taken by surprise and his tray clatters to the ground, water and soggy oatmeal soaking large stains into his sweater. He’s just lucky the oatmeal wasn’t really hot to begin with, or that would have hurt a lot more than it did. It’s still plenty gross and his elbow throbs angrily at being jostled.

The guy, who bumped into him shoves Jughead again and Jughead stumbles back another step as the other hisses at him: “Hey! Watch where you’re going, _pretty boy_!”

Jughead glares up at him, teeth grinding against the surge of anger that bubbles up, closer and closer to the surface the longer he spends behind these bars. “You’re the one, who walked into me!” He shoots back, the uncomfortable, tacky feeling of his breakfast sticking his clothes to his chest freezing him to the spot, soiled hands held out awkwardly.

The Ghoulie, because now Jughead can see the tattoo on his wrist, fists a hand into the front of Jughead’s sweater just below the neckline and uses that to haul him in, the guys he’s with standing back for now, but holding themselves like they’re just waiting for an excuse to step in. “You got some on my shoes.” He says, low and mean, looming over Jughead by a good two inches. “Why don’t you put that mouth of yours to good use and clean it off?”

Face heating up dangerously, Jughead’s about to tell him exactly where he can shove it, when he’s pushed back, Sweet Pea’s broad shoulders bullying their way in between the two of them, a wide hand pushing the Ghoulie away as Sweet Pea comes to a standstill between Jughead and the Ghoulie. Fangs and a couple of the other Serpents are right there with Sweet Pea, eyeing the other Ghoulies to make sure no-one tries anything stupid, Darwin hanging back a little, a displeased frown on his face.

“What the fuck is your problem, asshole?” Sweet Pea growls, even though he spent the entire morning doing his best to pretend like Jughead didn’t exist at all. One of his hands reaches back to make sure Jughead stays behind him and Jughead would feel grateful for his help, if the way he’s going about it weren’t so fucking condescending and belittling. His sticky hands ball into fists at his side as his breakfast slowly cools on his chest.

“You tell me, Serpent trash.” The Ghoulie taunts and steps into Sweet Pea’s personal space, a clear challenge in his eyes. Fangs makes as if to do something about it, but Sweet Pea holds out a hand to stop him, his eyes never leaving the Ghoulie in front of him.

“I don’t know.” Sweet Pea says, mock thoughtful, squaring his shoulders and straightening his back, the look in his eyes hard. “Maybe you forgot what a bad fucking idea it is to get on the Serpents’ bad side. Maybe you need a little reminder?”

“Oh, please.” The Ghoulie scoffs and turns his head to the side to spit onto the floor, before he goes on, voice spiteful and mocking. “That kid ain’t Serpent material and you and I both know it. Which means there are only two reasons you’re keeping him around. One, because he’s your former bosse’s son and you feel some sort of misguided obligation towards him. And Two, because you want something pretty to pass around when you get bored. If it weren’t so obvious you’re not actually _using_ him, that is. Maybe he’s giving you trouble, huh? Why don’t you leave him with us for a week or so? We’ll sort him out. Be docile as a fucking lamb once we’re done with him.”

There’s an ugly grin on the Ghoulie’s face, showing his yellowish teeth and his friends snicker meanly, some of them giving Jughead speculative glances, but most of them focused on Sweet Pea and the other Serpents. Because they don’t see Jughead as a threat. And that’s just – that’s the last remaining straw, the one that finally has Jughead snap, all of that anger and frustration and fear that’s been building up since he got here bursting out of him as he shoulders past Sweet Pea and gets in the Ghoulie’s face. Shoulders squared and the sound of blood rushing through his ears almost loud enough to drown out his own voice.

“Why don’t you fucking try and see where it gets you, asshole?!” Jughead hisses, face hot and flaming and he shoves the Ghoulie hard enough to make him stumble back a step. Caught completely by surprise, judging by the stupid fucking look on his face. Sweet Pea just stares at him like Jughead up and grew a second head or something, blindsided, frozen to the spot while around him everyone else breaks into motion.

“Oh, yeah?” The Ghoulie hisses at Jughead as his friends crowd in, pushing and shoving at the Serpents in front of them. “I bet you’re dad’s someone’s prison bitch already, why not follow in his footsteps? What else are you supposed to be good for?”

Jughead surges forward, teeth bared in a snarl, fists balled and ready to throw a punch, but Fangs gets in between the two of them, trying to hold Jughead back and all of a sudden it feels like he’s caught in the middle of two opposing tides. Pulled and pushed in different directions at the same time as everyone lunges into the fray.

Looking back on the whole thing later, with a clearer head, it’s kind of a miracle that no-body gets seriously hurt. It’s a huge tussle that should have called the guards into action the minute it breaks loose, but all they’re doing is standing buy and watching them go at it, like they’re waiting for blood to be drawn before they deem it necessary to step in. What actually saves everyone’s asses are the speakers crackling to life overhead.

It’s so loud and so unexpected that everyone just kind of freezes, Jughead included. He’s breathing hard, so worked up it feels like there should be plumes of smoke rising up out of his ears or something, when the voice overhead calls out his name along with a string of others, Sweet Pea and Fangs included, and tells them to get to the visiting area. Apparently, there are people here to see them.

Some of the Ghoulies seem to be amongst the called-out as well, because they peal away from the knot of people that had formed in the tussle, muttering under their breath and head out. The Ghoulie, who’d started the whole thing shoots Jughead one last spiteful look and then walks off himself. Somehow, Jughead has the feeling that’s not going to be last he’s seen of the guy.

Sweet Pea pulls at his shoulder to get him to move, dragging him away and presumably towards wherever the Hell the visiting area is. Fangs mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a pretty impressive string of expletives as he stomps after the two of them, a fresh bruise forming high up on his left cheekbone. Jughead can feel himself deflate at the sight, his anger turning aimless again and feeling bad and kind of ashamed about the way he just lost it. So fucking stupid. He could have gotten someone killed, for God’s sake. This place is bringing out the worst in him and he really, really hates it.

Sticky and defeated, Jughead lets himself be pulled along.

~*~*~

The visiting area is one big room with a bunch of smaller metal tables and chairs screwed to the cement floor, all in all way more bright and colorful than the rest of the detention center is. Scanning the crowd of people gathered around the tables, it takes Jughead a moment to figure out, who’s there for him. He can see Tall Boy at one of them, but then his eyes land on Archie and Betty and Jughead stops short in his tracks. Archie spots him and gives a curt little wave and there’s that same old scowl creeping back onto Jughead’s face, the coil in his stomach pulling tighter as he walks towards the table and plops into a seat across from them.

They both seem on edge, worried and unhappy and Archie’s expression turns into a frown when he looks Jughead over, takes in the state of him with his oatmeal stained sweater and all.

“What are you doing here?” Jughead presses out, not putting any effort into being nice about it. He’s still churning from the incident in the cafeteria, his clothes are sticky and uncomfortable and he really doesn’t feel equipped to deal with either Betty or Archie right now. And still, they’re here and this is what he gets.

Betty’s eyes widen at his tone and she looks hurt. A dark, bitter part of Jughead feels satisfied with the effect, even though, stupidly, it still stings to know that he’s the reason for it. He can’t just switch off his feelings for he like they were never there.

“We were worried about you.” Archie exclaims, hands gesticulating as they do, when he’s agitated. It’s such a familiar mannerism that it makes Jughead’s chest ache with all of the memories it calls up, so much shared history, so much trust and warmth and light, all of it gone now. It makes Jughead want to be mean, to lash out and channel his hurt into something destructive.

“Oh, really.” He scoffs, regardless of how it makes Archie’s frown deepen. “It didn’t look like you were particularly worried about me when you came by to break up with me for Betty. You were actually pretty clear with what you thought about me. I got the fucking message, thanks. There’s really no need to come by and rub it in.”

“That’s not why we’re here and you know it.” Betty says, soft and insistent and it fucking hurts. He’d thought what they had was good, not perfect, but _good_. He’d trusted her with everything and she’d thrown it back in his face like it meant nothing at all. Just the way Toni had warned him, Jughead thinks, the muscles in his jaw straining as he tries to swallow back down the swell of something that’s making his throat ache. Sweet Pea’s words from last night echo in his head like a fucking mantra. “Archie was at Southside High trying to warn you about the raid, but he got there just a little too late. I know I broke up with you, but I did it to protect you. There were some things I needed to do before I could talk to you. That’s done with now, though. I can explain, if you’ll let me.”

“You know what?” Jughead shoots back, hands balling into fists on the tabletop, uncaring of how sticky they are, bitterness spilling out of his mouth like poison. “I don’t _care_ why you did it. Whatever it was, you could have trusted me enough to _talk to me_ about it and we would have found a way to solve it together. But _instead_ you did the one think you _knew_ could hurt me! And now, what? You’re expecting me to just act like nothing happened, to go back to the way things were before? To come crawling like a dog on a leash just because you’re ready to take me back? No. Both of you made it pretty fucking plain how ‘important’ I am to you. At least now I have people around me who’ve actually got my back.”

“Oh, yeah?” Archie chimes in before Betty can say anything else, although it looks like she wants to. “And where has that gotten you, huh? You’ve been part of the Serpents for what? Two days? And you’re already behind bars! Just like your dad! Even though you always go on about how you’re never going to end up like him, how you’ve got plans to get out of here and be a writer and live a better life and all that. What happened to that? Was it all really just some bullshit you made up to lead everybody on? Because if you can’t see where you’re headed right now, then you’re a lot dumber than I ever thought you were.”

“Archie –“ Betty starts, trying to calm things down, but Jughead just talks over her, too angry and too hurt and too bitter to care.

“Well, I guess everyone was right about me all along, then.” He spits at them, unable to stop himself now that he’s opened the floodgates. “I was Southside trash all along and it was always just a matter of time until I ended up right where I am now. So you don’t have to _pretend_ like you care about me anymore. You can just write me off and move on with your nice, carefree little Northside lives, like I was never even there in the first place. You can tell yourselves that you did everything you could but I was a lost cause from the start, you’re conscience is clean. It was all just some elaborate farce. Completely inconsequential.”

“That’s not fair, Jug.” Betty says, her eyes beseeching and watery, like she’s trying really hard not to cry. Jughead hates himself for the way it _still_ hurts to see her like that. She’d really meant the world to him. He’d meant it, when he’d told her that he loved her. He really had. But what good is that doing him now? “We miss you and we’re worried for you. None of us wanted things to end up like this. I can understand that you’re angry and for what it’s worth, I _am_ sorry. I should have found a better way to do things, but I was so scared at the time. If you’d just let me explain, maybe you’d understand...”

“Life isn’t fucking fair, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Jughead says, low and mean and he can see the words hit home, see the grimace that flits across Betty’s features, distorting her pretty face and that knot in his chest just keeps on growing until it gets hard to breathe around it.

“Why do you have to be such an asshole about it, Jug? We’re here to _help you_.” Archie throws back at him, his temper right there with Jughead’s. Well, too fucking bad.

“I’ve got help.” Jughead tells him and gets up out of his chair. He’s had enough of this. Any more and he’s just going to explode again, the way he did earlier in the mess hall and he doesn’t think throwing punches would go over so well here. There are a lot more guards around than in the rest of the prison and he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t wait nearly as long to step in, if a tussle broke loose. “From people I can actually count on. You can save yourself the trouble of coming by again.”

With that Jughead turns his back on them and starts to make his way through the visiting area towards the exit and back into the actual detention center. He can hear Archie get up, too, but he doesn’t make a move to follow Jughead, and for that Jughead is grateful. He doesn’t know what would happen if Archie tried. Jughead would probably end up saying and doing things he’d regret even more than the ones he’s already said and done.

Breathing kind of hurts and all he wants to do is find some quiet, solitary place where he can fall apart in peace but he knows that’s not going to happen. So he’ll just have to suck it up. Breathe through it or some such shit so that, maybe, he can avoid fucking crying in front of everyone. Jughead angrily wipes at his eyes with an unsoiled part of his sleeve as he goes, head held carefully high.

He’s been through worse, Jughead tries to tell himself, and he’s been alone before. It’s not the first time that Archie took a huge dump on their friendship and left him high and dry when Jughead would have needed him. It just kind of feels like it might actually stick this time and he’d kind of, desperately and hopelessly, expected something better from Betty. He’d wanted it to work so fucking badly. But he guesses he was just fooling himself thinking it could, like with so many other things.

Sweet Pea glances up at him, when Jughead rushes past the table where he’s sitting and talking to Tall Boy, eyebrows raised in question, but Jughead ignores him and keeps going. Fangs is sitting a couple tables further down with a girl who Jughead would place somewhere in her early twenties, though the tired look on her face and the way she holds herself make her seem older. She shares a familial sort of resemblance with Fangs, so she’s probably a sister or a cousin or something. Fangs doesn’t let himself be deterred by Jughead leaving and Jughead really doesn’t want to cut the time he has with his relative short anyway.

There’s a guard at the exit, waiting to pat Jughead down and shine a flashlight into his mouth, just to make sure that there’s no contraband being smuggled in or something. The guy pulls a face at the state of Jughead’s clothes but waves him through without further comment once he’s done.

The hall outside of the visiting area is empty and quiet and Jughead’s just so fucking tired that he decides, if he’s going to wait for the others to finish up so that they can head back together, he might as well do it sitting. So he sinks down along the wall until he can plant his butt on the cold concrete floor and pull his knees up against his chest, head falling back to rest against the wall. He sighs, defeated, and closes his eyes. Just for a moment, hands resting on the ground at his sides. One fucking moment of peace and quiet. One moment of not thinking about how badly he’s fucking everything up right now. That’s all.

~*~*~

The other Serpents that were called to the visiting area with him trickle out one by one and Jughead heaves himself back to his feet as soon as the first walks into the hall. It takes a bit until they’re complete, Sweet Pea being the last to join them and Jughead gives him an expectant look.

“Tall Boy say anything bout our cases?” Jughead asks, because he could really use something to take his mind off of his own visit and the shit show that turned into, barely daring to hope for some good news. But Sweet Pea just shakes his head at him, curt and jerky, like he’s still fucking mad at Jughead.

“We should get back to the others first. I don’t really feel like repeating myself.” That’s all Sweet Pea has to say before he turns his back on Jughead and starts heading down the hall, the rest of the Serpents following his lead. Jughead frowns, but takes the cue and gets his ass moving, not really feeling like arguing, not anymore. If Sweet Pea wants to be an asshole about it, then fucking let him. It’s not like this damn day can get much worse as it is.

~*~*~

They meet up with Darwin and the rest of the Serpents in the yard at their usual table and Sweet Pea relays the news Tall Boy brought with him to them. They’re not as good as Jughead would have hoped but it probably shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise.

“Tall Boy told me that the police are saying they found Jingle-Jangle in most of our lockers at School.” Sweet Pea says and Jughead can feel his brows draw together in a frown, some of the other Serpents speaking up, denials on their tongues. Sweet Pea raises his hands to quiet them down, plenty disgruntled himself. “It’s gotta be some kind of setup. I _know_ that none of you are doing that shit. Either the drugs were planted or the pigs are fucking lying. Someone’s really got it out for us this time.”

“So what do we do now?” Fangs asks, arms crossed in front of his chest, scowling to hide the fear underneath, but Jughead can see it anyway. It’s the same cold fist that’s unfurling in his own gut. This sure as Hell isn’t good.

“Tall Boy and the others reached out to the Snake Charmer. She says she’s gonna take a look at our cases and try to get them dismissed as quickly as possible. Doesn’t think the charges’ll stick, but can’t say how long it’ll take to get us out, yet. Tall Boy’ll keep us in the loop.” Sweet Pea says and it doesn’t seem like he’s entirely happy with the news, and why would he be, of course, but he also makes it look like he thinks Penny’s going to be able to help. Jughead’s not entirely sure how he feels about getting her involved. “In the mean time we just need to keep our heads down and stay out of trouble.”

“What did she ask for in return for her help?” Jughead asks, because after the way his dad reacted to Jughead telling him about going to Penny for help Jughead can’t help the unease he feels at the thought of having unwittingly indebted himself further with her. She hasn’t come round to collect the first favor he owes her, yet, and Jughead hates that nagging voice in the back of his head that keeps him wondering just how badly he’d messed up, when he’d first come to her for help. It got his dad out of that 20 year shit show of a deal, though, so there’s that.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” Sweet Pea snaps at him and the harshness of his voice takes Jughead somewhat by surprise. Sure Sweet Pea’s mood hasn’t exactly been the best today, but that seems a little out of proportion. It makes Jughead’s hackles rise, hitting a nerve after everything that’s happened and he’s been so fucking angry all day, he feels like he might just loose it, _again_ , if things keep going on like this.

So he does the smarter thing and decides that he’s had enough, at least for the moment. “Fine.” Jughead shoots back, mouth twisted up into an ugly grimace. “Tell me or don’t, I don’t fucking care. Right now, I’m going back to the cell and get a change of clothes.”

“You’re not going alone.” Sweet Pea says, frown turning into a scowl and shoulders squaring like he’s looking for a fight.

“Yeah, I’m not stupid, thanks.” Jughead bites out, hands balling into fists at his sides, chin raised and not about to back down. “But it’s sure as shit not going to be with you. Maybe you can take the time I’m gone to cool the fuck off. Because I have no idea what I did this time, so as soon as you’re ready to _talk_ we can do that. Until then, why don’t you just leave me the Hell alone? Any volunteers?”

Fangs, although he looks plenty pissed and exasperated himself, seems like he’s about to step up, but Darwin beats him to it.

“Come on.” He says, one of his hands landing on Jughead’s shoulder to get him to start walking. “You look like someone puked onto your sweater. Can’t let you walk around like that in good conscience.”

“Thanks a lot.” Jughead shoots back dryly, but lets himself be led away. He needs to clear his fucking head. He’s so fed up with all of this bullshit. Shooting one last look back over his shoulder he can see Sweet Pea staring after the two of them, face twisted up in an unhappy sneer and hands balled into fists at his sides, Fangs looking at Sweet Pea like there’s a lot he’d like to say just now, none of it particularly pleasant.

~*~*~

The cell block is blessedly deserted. The quiet does a decent job of helping Jughead calm himself down somewhat, the fumes of anger he’d been running on dissipating to leave behind a vague, perpetual sense of irritation and a tiredness he feels he should’ve gotten used to by now since it’s like his new default mode or something. Darwin leans his shoulder against the door frame of Jughead and Sweet Pea’s cell, hip cocked and eyes out towards the hallway, watchful.

They might be alone for now, but this would be a pretty bad time and place to get jumped, with no guards around and all that. The unease that never quite goes away in here flutters low in Jughead’s gut, just behind his bellybutton and he hurries to peal off his sweater and the t-shirt underneath. He’s still got the set of clothes he’d been wearing for the last two days stacked on the shelf above his bed. Monday is laundry day, as far as he knows, so he’ll get a fresh set tomorrow, but for now those’ll have to do.

First, though, he trudges over to the sink above the toilet in the corner and washes his hands and wipes down his chest and stomach, gets the sticky remains of his breakfast off of them finally, then holds his sweater under the flow of cold water to try and wash out the stain. He’ll need something to wear tomorrow and spending four days in the same set of sweats may be doable but if he can avoid it, he’ll be just as happy. The oatmeal washes out easily enough and once he’s done with the sweater, he starts in on his t-shirt and ultimately his sweats where some of the oatmeal has trickled down to soak into the front near the waistband.

He turns around, pile of semi-wet clothes in his hands, to drape them across the frame of his cot so that they can dry while he’s out for the rest of the day, and finds Darwin watching him. Eyes intent in a way that makes Jughead suddenly very conscious of the fact that he’s standing there in nothing but his boxers and socks. Face heating up, Jughead hurries to do what he’d intended and then scramble back into his old set of sweats, feeling the need to cover himself back up. Darwin gives him a smirk, like he thinks it’s cute or something and it makes that uneasy flutter in Jughead’s gut grow in intensity.

He wants to get back to the others, away from Darwin, but when he makes as if to slip past him to leave the cell, Darwin blocks his way, one arm stretched out, hand resting against the opposite side of the door frame. Jughead swallows, mouth suddenly dry as he looks up at Darwin.

“So, you and Sweet Pea, huh?” Darwin says and Jughead furrows his brows, not sure what Darwin’s getting at.

“Sweet Pea and I what?” Jughead asks, frown deepening. He straightens his back and squares his shoulders. _Don’t look easy, don’t look weak._

Darwin moves out of his slouch against the frame until he’s standing in front of Jughead, that same amused expression on his face and when Jughead takes an involuntary step back, his smirk widens. “What’s up with the two of you? You got a thing? Because I really can’t tell. Sometimes it looks like it, sometimes it doesn’t.” Darwin shrugs to underline his words, hands spreading out in a question.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Jughead presses out, taking another step back only for Darwin to follow, slow and wolf-like, then again until Jughead’s back hits the chilly concrete wall and he has nowhere left to go. He suddenly and fiercely wishes he hadn’t been this stupid, that he’d taken someone he actually knows along with him and not put himself in a situation where he’s alone with a stranger. A stranger he can’t read, one who’s supposed to be on his side, but in here, you never fucking know.

Darwin huffs out a laugh and rests one of his hands against the wall near Jughead’s head. There’s still some space between the two of them, but not a lot and Jughead can feel his pulse quicken as he stares up at Darwin. There’s something hard and mean about him, just beneath that lighter facade he likes to cultivate, that makes the hair on the back of Jughead’s neck prickle to attention and his stomach flutter unpleasantly.

“Isn’t that cute.” Darwin hums, his eyes narrowing. “You really don’t get it, do you? Well, let me explain, then. Sweet Pea’s been acting like he’s got some sort of claim on you. It’s a smart play, because it makes other guys back off or at least think twice before they make a move. Sweet Pea’s not stupid and he knows this place, knows what kind of trouble an all too pretty face can cause. Especially in your case. ‘Cause you’re not just easy on the eyes, you’re also our former king’s son and that’s got weight, even if FP is currently out of the game. Draws a lot of unwanted attention, you know? Right now you’ve got every Ghoulie in this joint and potentially some other guys, too, chomping at their bits waiting for a chance to make you their little bitch for the credit it’s gonna get them alone. It’s fucked up, but that’s just the way things go in here. Thing is, though, that Sweet Pea’s not really _doing_ anything about it. He should know better than to stake a claim he can’t follow through on. I think he’s got a soft spot for you for some reason and that’s making him weak. And it’s putting the rest of us in danger, too. It’s making a lot of people antsy and that’s not good for any of us. So, since it’s my responsibility to keep the Serpents under my protection safe, and the current situation is getting in the way of that, what do you think I should do about it, hm?”

That’s a little much to digest, honestly and Jughead can feel his face flaming, a dizzying mix of anger and embarrassment and he doesn’t know what to say. He’s reeling a little trying to sort through all of it. It’s like his first day at Southside High all over again only so much worse. And Sweet Pea’s been doing what? People giving him shit for who his dad is, that’s something Jughead knows, even if he’s still getting used to the actual extent of his dad’s importance. But the fact that something like what Darwin’s saying should be _necessary_ in the first place, the insinuation that it might have been Jughead’s fault that Sweet Pea almost got gutted yesterday, same as the tussle in the cafeteria today that could have ended so much worse... He’s having trouble wrapping his head around it. Doesn’t want to believe that this fucking place really is _that_ depraved, even though the longer he’s here, the more he sees, the worse it seems to be getting.

It doesn’t make sense, or rather, Jughead doesn’t _want_ it to make sense. This is Darwin blowing things out of proportion in a fucked up way of coming on to Jughead or something. Or maybe Darwin’s been here for too long, maybe he’s seeing things that aren’t there because this fucking place has screwed him over one too many times. Either way, Jughead’s not doing this.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re seeing things.” Jughead presses out through clenched teeth and ducks underneath Darwin’s arm in an attempt to get away from him. To Jughead’s surprise, Darwin lets him. His eyes, though, turn hard and cold as he looks after Jughead, arms folding across his chest as he turns around and leans back against the wall leisurely, a calm to him that seems more than a little dangerous.

“Keep telling yourself that, pretty boy. I’ll let it go for now, but if things don’t calm down soon and you get one of my guys hurt or worse, we’re really going to have a problem, you and me.”

Jughead just barely remembers to grab his book before he flees the cell, making his way back to the yard, where the others are. He can hear Darwin follow, at a slower pace, but still there, the feeling of Darwin’s eyes on him sending a cold shiver up Jughead’s spine. It’ll get better, once they’re not alone anymore, Jughead thinks and quickens his step some more.

~*~*~

Jughead breathes a quiet sigh of relief when they get back to the yard. Sweet Pea looks up as the two of them take seats around the table, Jughead making sure to put as much distance between himself and Darwin as he can under the circumstances. Sweet Pea’s eyes scanning Jughead like he’s looking for something, scowl deep and posture stiff. Jughead doesn’t know what he’s looking for and he’s not sure he wants to care. What he does want, is to get out of this fucking place before it gets its claws in so deep he’ll leave a piece of his soul, of his sanity, behind when he finally gets to leave. Some vital fragment of himself left to haunt these concrete walls and iron bars until long after he’s faded out of this world.

At first, Jughead actually tries to include himself in the conversations the other Serpents are idly starting and ending, still shaken and confused and looking for something to distract himself with so that his thoughts can’t wander into unwanted territory, but it’s like he’s got a target painted on his back or something. Whenever he says something or asks something, Sweet Pea shoots him down, Sweet Pea’s mood like a boiling kettle that flows over every time Jughead opens his mouth it feels like. Eventually, hurt and fed up, Jughead pulls himself out of all of it and returns to reading.

Jughead has no clue what the Hell Sweet Pea is so pissed about and he doesn’t really feel like calling him out on it in front of everyone, least of all Darwin. He has a feeling that wouldn’t exactly go over well. So, his nose buried firmly in his book, Jughead practices his own form of escapism, tried and true. The rest of the day quietly passes him buy as he follows Stu Redman and his companions on their journey through a plague-ridden, diminished America as the Devil slowly but surely rallies his forces against them. He can feel the eyes on him still, but only faintly.

~*~*~

Later, when lock-down finally comes, Jughead waits for a chance to talk, to get whatever it is that’s been making Sweet Pea act like a total asshole all day, out into the open so that he can, maybe, finally do something about it. But Sweet Pea turns his back on him the second the bars slide shut to lock them in and starts up a low conversation with Fangs across the hall.

Jughead lets himself be discouraged at first, but eventually he just can’t take it anymore. He drops his book onto his bunk, where he’s sitting cross-legged and folds his arms in front of his chest, more than ready to clear the air.

“So.” Jughead says and Sweet Pea turns away from the bars, leaving off his conversation with Fangs in favor of looking at Jughead. He leans against the bars at his back, eyes narrowing and arms deceptively loose at his sides, one eyebrow raised in question, more than a little annoyed already. “Are you actually going to tell me what your problem with me is _now_ or do I need to sit here and guess until I hit the mark?”

Sweet Pea’s mouth thins and his eyes narrow as he stares back at Jughead. “Tall Boy told me earlier that your Northside pals’ve been looking into your case. Making noise about it and trying to get things moved along. Your case only, that is.”

“What?” Jughead furrows his brows and moves his arms so that he can wrap them around his middle, the ever-present chill more persistent now that night has fallen for real.

Huffing out a derisive laugh, Sweet Pea goes on, his tone accusing. “Don’t tell me that’s not what they were here to talk to you about today.”

“What little talking we did wasn’t exactly civil, in case you didn’t notice.” Jughead bites out, fingers digging into his ribs, angry about how defensive he feels, about being reminded of that particular clusterfuck. He sure as Hell hadn’t _asked_ Archie or Betty to do anything for him and he doesn’t really know how to feel about the fact that they’d tried anyway.

“Sure.” Sweet Pea’s mouth pulls into a snarl, voice rising dangerously and Jughead angrily tamps down on the notion of wanting to shrink back from him. “Why would you want your Northside buddies to help you out while the rest of us stay in here to rot? So that you can crawl back to them once you’re out? Forget all about us Southside trash? So you’ve had enough of us already. Big fucking surprise. What were you doing, huh? Slumming it until the first chance you could get to run back to your old life came along and you wouldn’t need us anymore? You must be really fucking relieved that you can stop pretending like you give a shit about any of us.”

That’s enough to get Jughead to his feet, propelled by the unfairness, the outlandishness of the accusations, Sweet Pea’s words hitting exactly where it hurts. What the fuck kind of person does Sweet Pea think he is? “I have no idea what you’re talking about, alright?” Jughead barks back, hands waving around aimlessly to help make his point, wounded and so fucking angry. “I don’t know who the Hell you think I am, but you’re wrong! I went through initiation, all of it! I’m just as much a Serpent as you are! I have the same fucking tattoo. So maybe I don’t hate the Northside as much as you seem to do. That doesn’t mean that I’ll just turn around and desert the Serpents as soon as I get the chance! I’m in this for good! And I’m starting to run out of ideas on how to fucking prove that to you!”

Sweet Pea’s face pulls into an ugly grimace and he looks like he’s about to say something, something scathing and awful, another step further into turning the corner on making this thing between them irredeemable, pouring gasoline into the fire, when he gets cut off.

“Can you just shut the Hell up and fuck already?! Jesus!”

It freezes both of them to the spot for a second. The voice, completely exasperated, sounds vaguely familiar, but Jughead can’t say for sure. He’s too startled, caught off guard by the absolute ridiculousness of the interruption, head reeling with his agitation, blood rushing and breathing hard. So worked up over this stupid thing, over Sweet Pea _still_ not trusting him, still automatically resorting to thinking the worst of him and the way it frustrates Jughead enough to bring angry tears to the corners of his eyes. He wants to set it right so fucking badly, but he doesn’t know _how._

Then Sweet Pea catches himself and suddenly bursts into motion, darts forward, the look in his eyes a little wild. Reflexively, Jughead jerks back, thinking he’s going to get punched. But instead, Sweet Pea’s big hands close over his jaw, holding him still, firm and assertive but not meant to hurt and then Sweet Pea’s mouth is on his and Jughead’s mind just kind of whites out, all thought erased in the blink of an eye.

Sweet Pea is kissing him. Sweet Pea is fucking _kissing_ him.

His lips are soft and warm as they move against Jughead’s, kind of desperate but still so damn gentle, so careful not to hurt him. Jughead makes a sound in the back of his throat, low and wounded and Sweet Pea crowds him until his back hits the wall and there’s nowhere left to go, Sweet Pea pressed up against him, tall and broad and warm and so fucking solid. Body heat seeping through layers of clothes, chasing away the cold and making Jughead gasp into the kiss.

Sweet Pea nips at Jughead’s bottom lip and the sting of it is finally enough to snap him out of his stupor. Jughead twists away form the kiss, sucks in a desperate breath and shoves Sweet Pea as hard as he can. Sweet Pea stumbles back a step, eyes wide and a look on his face like he’s just been sucker punched. Lips still pink and shiny form the kiss.

Jughead feels blindsided, head spinning and eyes wide, trying desperately to catch his breath. Reeling as Sweet Pea just kind of stares back at him, that same shell-shocked expression on his face and Jughead can feel himself press back further against the wall, arms coming up to wrap around his middle and shoulders slumping forward.

He has no idea what the fuck just happened.

“Why?” Jughead asks and he hates how small his voice sounds, scared and miserable like a fucking child. He doesn’t want this, whatever it is, not here, not _like this._ Not with Darwin’s poisonous words spinning around in his head fast enough to make him feel dizzy. Not with a set of cold iron bars at Sweet Pea’s back and people constantly telling him that the only reason Jughead’s being kept around is because of his dad and his pretty face. Not when Darwin just tried to tell him that the reason Sweet Pea almost got stabbed yesterday is that Sweet Pea hasn’t had the guts to man up and fuck him, yet. He feels light-headed and nauseous and he just can’t seem to get his breathing under control.

“Fuck!” Sweet Pea bursts out, hands balling up into fists, the vehemence of it making Jughead flinch. Sweet Pea spins around and kicks at the frame of his cot, the motion explosive like a fire-cracker going off and the metal of the cot clatters against the wall loudly. Jughead feels frozen to the spot, unable to move.

Rubbing his hands across his face angrily, fingers pulling at his hair, Sweet Pea turns back towards Jughead. “Just forget about it, alright?” He presses out through clenched teeth. “Shit!”

Jughead darts his tongue out to wet dry lips, Sweet Pea’s eyes following the motion, and he can still _taste_ Sweet Pea there. Sweet Pea takes a step forward, mouth falling open like there’s more he wants to say, and Jughead shrinks back from him reflexively. The look that flits across Sweet Pea’s face feels kind of like a fist to the gut, hurt and so angry at the same time.

That’s the exact moment, though, that the overhead lights flicker off, all at once across the entire cell block, plunging them into an almost complete darkness, the only sound left is both of their harsh breathing. Disembodied and eerie.

Sweet Pea curses again, followed by the dull thud of something softer than the frame of his bunk hitting the wall, then silence again. A silence Jughead knows now won’t last.

Jughead forces himself to untangle his arms, to feel around in the dark until he’s found his cot and can sink down onto it, trying desperately to calm himself down again.

He thought he could trust Sweet Pea, even with all of that tension between them, but now he’s not sure anymore. He doesn’t know what to think or believe. Jughead can hear Sweet Pea climb onto his own cot, the rustling of the covers and then nothing but his unsteady breathing.

Around them, the cell block starts to slip into its nightly game of horrors and Jughead scrambles for the roll of toilet paper on his shelf, desperate to block out the sounds. He lies awake for a long time that night, unable to shut down his brain and the thoughts whirling around in it. Bit by bit he goes through all of the things that have happened since they got to Leopold and Loeb, all of his interactions with Sweet Pea, his mind analytical and ruthless. Recalls the strangeness he’d been unable to place but that starts to make a different kind of sense now. The small gestures, the touches, the hovering.

Was all of that just designed to send a message? To try and avoid trouble? Something Sweet Pea had done to protect himself and the others? Something Jughead had been too naive to see or understand? Or perhaps something he hadn’t _wanted_ to? And what now? How much of what Darwin had said to him earlier or of what that fucking Ghoulie had sneered at Sweet Pea had been true?

And what did that make Jughead? Nothing more than liability? A nuisance? More trouble than he was worth? He’d really thought that he was getting somewhere with Sweet Pea, that there might be the potential for an actual friendship there regardless of how rough going it was, that amongst the Serpents he might have the chance to find a place where he might finally be accepted, where he might belong without having to pretend. How much of that had been a lie, too? He knows that his ‘heritage’ was what got him an in in the first place, but is that really the only thing keeping him there, too?

His stomach hurts, cramping up for no good reason and his fingers brush against the plastic wrapping of the half-eaten chocolate bar as they slip underneath his pillow. The one Sweet Pea’d smuggled for him. His eyes sting and he rubs at them angrily. He takes the chocolate bar and shoves it under the pile of clothes on his shelf, then drops back onto the cot, staring up at where the ceiling’s supposed to be but darkness stretches out instead, endless and complete, trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do now. He just doesn’t fucking know anymore. All he knows, is that he hasn’t felt quite this lonely in a long while.

When he finally does fall asleep, he dreams of his dad and of Jason Blossom’s murder. Of that night Betty, Veronica, Archie, Kevin and him had found the video of Jason’s death. Clifford Blossom holding a gun to his son’s head and then pulling the trigger, his face a cold mask of indifference. A statue devoid of emotion, no trace of humanity, a real life monster. And through it all, the ghost of Sweet Pea’s lips on his.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's gonna be some real action next chapter, promise.  
> Loads of it in fact *evil laughter*  
> Someone help me...


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this one took me so long. I had this quiet goal of being able to post a chapter once a week or thereabouts, but this one gave me some trouble and RL got somewhat in the way.  
> Plus the chapter technically isn't even finished, yet, but it's already close to twice as long as the previous ones and, even though I hadn't wanted to, I decided to split it up after all. I hope the split isn't too awkward, but this way at least I can give you something now and take a little more time to finish the rest of it.
> 
> There are some warnings that come into effect in this chapter. Since they're a bit spoiler-ish, you can find them at the end of the chapter. Just in case you want to make sure you'll be OK with this. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

~*~*~

Morning comes much too soon and much too harshly. Jughead feels horrible, like he didn’t sleep at all, even though he must have gotten in a couple hours near the end. That’s the only way to explain the fucked up dream he can remember bits and pieces of.

Sweet Pea looks about as bad as Jughead feels and for a moment, after the lights have flicked on and they’re still waiting for the cells to unlocks, Jughead holds his breath. He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, what he’s expecting to happen, but either way nothing does. It seems like Sweet Pea’s dead set on acting like nothing went down at all, his same old routine of turning his back to Jughead as soon as he’s up out of his cot firmly in place. Ignoring Jughead entirely until the bars finally slide open and they can re-join the others.

Even though Sweet Pea tries to hide it, Jughead gets a glimpse of the knuckles of his right hand, scraped and bruised in a way that looks painful. The sight makes the skin on Jughead’s own hand tingle in sympathy and he pushes down on the notion angrily. He’s too bitter and too tired to feel sorry for Sweet Pea now. He just doesn’t have the fucking energy. Not with the knot of tension sitting in his gut, making him feel vaguely sick, or how his teeth ache with the way his jaw-muscles keep working.

When Fangs catches up with them, he gives both Jughead and Sweet Pea a short once-over, taking in their mood and his eyebrows furrow into a frown. He pushes past Jughead to come even with Sweet Pea, throws another glance back at Jughead before he turns to Sweet Pea and asks, somewhat under his breath: “You good?”

“Fucking peachy.” Sweet Pea mumbles and stuffs his balled up fists into the pockets of his sweat pants, hiding his bruised knuckles.

Fangs’ frown deepens, but he takes the hint and lets it go for now, although he does cast one more unhappy look back at Jughead, who doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to react. So he just shrugs his shoulders curtly and crosses his arms in front of his chest to ward off the ever present chill of this fucking place.

Out in the mess hall the tension in the air is thick enough to cut it with a knife. It’s a sticky, uncomfortable weight that settles on Jughead’s shoulders and it kind of feels like everyone around them is holding their breath, waiting for something to snap and break loose. The feeling of having eyes follow him around seems more intense, more palpable now and the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms prickle into a wave of goose flesh. Whatever’s going on, it’s not fucking good, that much is obvious.

When they trudge past the Ghoulies’ table on their way over to the other Serpents, one of them whistles suggestively to catch their attention. Most of the others just ignore it, but Jughead makes the mistake of looking over, taken by surprise and the Ghoulie, the one who walked into him at breakfast yesterday, catches his eyes and winks, teeth bared in an ugly, too-wide grin.

“Hey, _princess_. Why don’t you come over here and sit with us for a bit? I’ve got some room right here on my lap. Got something nice and big and hard for you to play with. I hear you’re real good at that.” The Ghoulie leers and the rest of his friends laugh and hoot at his words like the absolute assholes that they are.

Jughead can feel the blood rush up to his face, his temper on a hair’s trigger and his fingers dig into the plastic of his tray hard enough to make it creak. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, asshole?” He shoots back, voice heavy with venom, even though he should know better than to engage and spur them on. Jughead just can’t stop himself, it feels like he’ll explode if he tries to keep the words in.

“Oh, but I’d much rather fuck _you_ , Serpent _bitch._ ” The Ghoulie’s grin widens and he waggles his eyebrows at Jughead sugestively, his fellow Ghoulies watching expectantly as he raises himself up out of his seat slowly. A challenge clear as day. “I promise I’ll be nice and gentle, just as royalty like yourself deserves. At least at first.”

Jughead halts his step, to do what exactly he’s not even sure, he only knows that it’s going to be ugly, but someone shoves at his shoulder from behind and makes him stumble back into line. A moment later Sweet Pea’s voice hisses next to his ear, low and angry: “Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?!”

Jughead shrugs off the hand on his shoulder sharply and tries his best to slow down his breathing, to get a handle on the anger that’s tinting the edges of his vision red as he follows Fangs’ back and the Ghoulies throw a string of cat-calls after him. “Trouble in paradise?” The one, who started the whole thing yells, sounding way too fucking cheerful about it, but at least it doesn’t seem like they’re ready to come through with their threat, not yet, because there’s no commotion that breaks loose after that, they just let the Serpents walk away for now.

The look Darwin gives Jughead as he takes his seat at the table is hard and cold. It calls to mind the conversation they had yesterday, the poison in his words and the threat underneath, and Jughead is quick to avoid his gaze, because that’s just something he doesn’t feel equipped to deal with right now. It’s not like he’s dong it on fucking purpose. He just can’t seem to be able to get a handle on himself anymore. It’s kind of scary, to say the least.

~*~*~

Things don’t get any better as the day goes on.

When they head out to the yard after breakfast, for the first time since Jughead got here, the Serpents don’t steer towards their usual table, but the bleachers and the basketball court beyond instead. Apparently Monday means having a go at sporting activity or something. At least someone’s got an eye out towards health benefits, Jughead thinks dryly. And it helps explain how these guys manage to stay as fit and bulky as they are in here, at least partially. Jughead had kind of been starting to wonder, what with all of that sitting around and doing nothing that’s been going on…

The Serpents split into two teams so that they can play against one another, Darwin as the captain of team number one and Sweet Pea as the captain of team number two. They’re one too many to make the split even, though, so Jughead more than happily volunteers to sit this one out.

He’s good at a lot of things, but ballgames are not one of them and he doesn’t feel any particular shame in admitting that. He has terrible hand-eye-coordination and the only thing he has a talent for, when it comes to these kinds of sports is catching the ball with his face, for some inexplicable reason, and Jughead figures that, while his bruises are slowly beginning to fade there’s still no real reason to go ahead and add new ones to the mix. He looks ridiculous enough as it is. And that’s not even mentioning the absolute spectacle he’d be making of himself in the process. Besides, if he has to take one more second of Sweet Pea fucking _hovering_ , he thinks he’s just going to loose it and start yelling again, in the middle of the fucking yard with pretty much the entire prison as an audience.

Maybe not the best way to go about things, especially considering his track record of being stupid and drawing unwanted attention to himself today.

It’s just that every time Sweet Pea comes too close, Jughead’s breath catches and his skin itches with the memory of that kiss, with the way it’d made his stomach flutter and his legs feel weak and he _doesn’t want to think about it_.

So, he’ll gladly spend the time sitting on the bleachers with his book for company, regardless of how unhappy that makes Sweet Pea look. Jughead’s almost afraid he’s going to have to argue about it, but Darwin grabs Sweet Pea by the shoulder and pulls him away and onto the court before he gets a chance to and Sweet Pea reluctantly lets him. He keeps throwing glances back at Jughead all throughout the fucking game, though, and all that does is fuel Jughead’s resentment every time he catches Sweet Pea’s gaze on him.

Jughead tries to focus on his book, Stu Redman’s fictional struggles far preferable to his own, but he just can’t concentrate properly. He keeps catching himself reaching the end of the page and not being able to recall a word of what he’s just read, mind wandering back to last night again and again, unable to let it go. The worst thing about it is that, despite how angry and hurt, how betrayed he feels, if it’d happened on the outside under different circumstances Jughead thinks he might have actually liked it. He _had_ liked it, for the handful of seconds before his brain’d kicked back in.

He can still feel the phantom touch of Sweet Pea’s lips on his, unexpectedly soft, the gentleness almost jarring in comparison to Sweet Pea’s usual gruff demeanor and all it does is add to his misery. Because the way it happened, the circumstances and all of the things it means in here, all of the wrong things, twist it up and poison it, turn it into something dark and awful. Something Jughead can’t help but hate. Because it doesn’t mean that Sweet Pea actually likes him. It doesn’t even mean that Sweet Pea doesn’t _hate_ him.

It makes him want to cry with how fucked up it all is, like a damn child, and he keeps catching himself with his hands in his hair, pulling at the strands, twisting them around his fingers, the sting on his scalp a much needed valve for the pressure building behind his eyes. He bitterly pictures his beanie sitting in a storage room somewhere in this prison, desolately collecting dust in the dark and all that does is make him feel even worse. He just wants this fucking nightmare to end while he’s still somewhat whole, while it still feels like what he left behind on the outside is something worth returning to and not something that’s going to be ruined by the shadow of everything that happened in here.

It startles him out of his train of thought, when someone slides onto the bleachers next to him, taking a seat much too near for comfort and leaning in even closer to take a look at the book Jughead’s still loosely holding in one hand. The guy’s not with the Ghoulies, Jughead doesn’t think, or at least he hasn’t seen him amongst them and Jughead can’t spot the customary tattoo anywhere. He’s tall and pale and he’s got a decent amount of muscle to show for, as is apparently par for the course for this fucking place and Jughead scoots away from him reflexively, a frown pulling at his features.

“Can I help you with something?” Jughead asks, irritated and a little uneasy.

The guy grins at him in a way that seems kind of off. “I’m, my name is Rattle, that’s it.” He starts, his voice a little too high as he rambles on and it just confirms Jughead’s suspicion that the guy isn’t entirely put together. “I saw you’re having some trouble with your gang. I can, I can get that, you know. Used to be with a gang, too, but they didn’t like me and I, I didn’t like them much either. Figured I’d do better alone. But you looked kind of lonely and kind of sad and sometimes you need a friend, you know. ‘Specially in a place like this, ‘specially here. We could be friends, I could be your friend.”

“Uhm.” Jughead doesn’t really know what to say to that, all he does know is that ‘Rattle’ is giving him the creeps. “I already have friends, but thanks?” He tries, feeling kind of stupid about it, but also eager to get rid of the guy. There’s something about him that makes Jughead think he’s more dangerous than he looks, dangerous in an unpredictable kind of way and that’s never a good thing.

Rattles scoots after Jughead, crowding him again, though Jughead’s not really sure he gets that it’s kind of inappropriate. “But you’re all alone. I can see that. You shouldn’t be all alone. Bad things happen when, when you’re alone in here, you know? I can see that, I see a lot of things. And you’re pretty. That’s bad. Kind of bad. You know?”

“I just told you, I’m not alone.” Jughead tries again, with a little more vehemence, leaning away to get some more space between them. “I’m sure you can find someone else, who’ll be more than happy to be friends with you, though.”

“You have really pretty hair.” Rattles goes on, like he didn’t actually hear a word Jughead just said and he reaches out a hand as if to touch. “It looks, it looks really soft.”

“Hey.” Jughead leans back to avoid him and bats his hand away. Face morphing from over-the-top-friendly to very much unpleasant fast enough to give Jughead whiplash, Rattles snatches up Jughead’s wrist instead and squeezes until Jughead can feel the bones grind against each other.

“Don’t be stupid, you _need_ friends.” Rattles hisses at him and Jughead can feel his eyes sting as he tries to twist his arm out of Rattles’ unyielding grip. It’s the one with the bruised elbow and that doesn’t exactly help matters any.

Out of no-where, a basketball whooshes past Jughead’s face and hits Rattles square in the nose. Rattles lets out a sound half pain, half rage and Jughead’s pretty sure he just heard his nose fucking break, a sickening kind of crunch that has Jughead feeling distinctly nauseous. At least it makes Rattles let go of Jughead’s wrist so that he can clutch at his nose as it gushes blood all across his chin and neck.

Jughead scoots away from him quickly, his aching wrist cradled in his hand. The next thing he knows there’s a proprietary arm, broad and unyielding, snaking over his shoulders, someone pressing up against Jughead’s side and Sweet Pea’s voice sounding out from next to his ear, very definitely pissed.

“There a problem here, asshole?”

Jughead grits his teeth and tries to twist out of Sweet Pea’s grip, but Sweet Pea’s hold tightens on his shoulders until it’s almost painful, leaving him no-where to go.

“Why, why did you do that?!” Rattles chokes out, his teeth stained blood-red and the swelling bridge of his nose covered by an ugly bluish-purple bruise. “I was just, I was trying to make a friend! He was all alone! I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!”

“Well, he’s with someone, so fuck off.” Sweet Pea bites out and pulls Jughead even closer, like Jughead’s a fucking doll he can just move around however he likes. It looks like Rattles gets the message, though, because he throws one last baleful look at Jughead as though Jughead betrayed him somehow and then scrambles off of the bleachers and away towards the main building.

As soon as Sweet Pea’s grip loosens, Jughead shoves his arm away and steps off of the bleachers himself until he can face Sweet Pea properly. “What the fuck was that?” Jughead hisses at him, venom in his voice and one finger pointing accusingly.

Sweet Pea looks at him for a second, a little startled, but anger is quick enough to replace the surprise, his temper flaring up to match Jughead’s easily. “What do you mean ‘what was that’? I just saved your ass, that’s what that was. What the Hell do you think?”

“Who says I couldn’t have handled that myself?” Jughead shoots back, face flushed and hands balling into fists. “Why do you always act like I can’t fucking take care of myself? Do you really think I’m that weak and that stupid to constantly need you to rescue me or some shit? Is that all I am to you? A stupid, useless liability? Some kind of burden to be dragged around with you?”

“I’m trying to look out for you!” Sweet Pea retorts, voice beginning to rise, even though he seems to be _trying_ to keep it down. Jughead can see the vein at the side of his neck throb dangerously and it looks like Jughead really hit a nerve there. Too fucking bad. “And why _wouldn’t_ I think that you need me to, huh? I don’t see this shit happening to anyone else here! You’d probably be lying dead and bled out in some deserted corner or worse by now if you didn’t have someone keeping an eye on you!”

“Well, maybe, if you gave me half a fucking chance to handle it on my own, you’d realize that I’m not as fucking useless as you think I am!” And there it is, the whole damn point. And Jughead is so sick of it he doesn’t even know anymore. Being treated like this, not being taken seriously.

“This isn’t just about you, alright?” Sweet Pea takes a half-step forward until they’re almost chest to chest and Jughead is angry enough to meet him head on, not about to give an inch, regardless of his physical disadvantage, of how he has to crane his neck to keep looking Sweet Pea in the eyes. “You’re a Serpent so if someone comes after you that means they’re coming after the rest of us, too. Whatever trouble you get yourself into, you drag us down with you! And for some fucking reason it’s like you’ve got a magnet for that shit glued to your back or something! You don’t know a damn thing about this place and you never fucking listen! You just keep making things worse! It’s not like that’s _my_ fault.”

“That’s enough!” Darwin steps in between the two of them and shoves them apart, one palm on each of their chests. His face is a picture of barely contained anger and that’s enough to jerk Jughead out of his own rage, the shock of seeing him like that, the mask of civility finally fallen away to reveal what lies underneath, unpleasant and ugly. “This is neither the time nor the place so you better fucking cool it!”

Digging his fingers into his scalp roughly and washing them through his hair Sweet Pea takes another step back and turns until he can pull back and kick at the bottom row of the bleachers in an eerie imitation of last night. “Shit!” The weather-worn wood splinters under the impact of Sweet Pea’s sneaker and Jughead flinches slightly at the power behind the kick. Both of them are out of sorts and breathing hard.

Now that he’s paying attention to his surroundings again, Jughead can see that all of the Serpents have gathered around them in a loose semi-circle, some of the older ones looking pretty unhappy while the younger ones, who came in together with Jughead and Sweet Pea seem more unsure of what to make of the whole thing.

“I’d say this game is over.” Darwin says, voice hard and final. Some of the other Serpents mutter unhappily, shooting Jughead annoyed looks as they make to head towards their usual table. He kind of thinks the older Serpents with Darwin don’t like him all that much and as things are going some of the younger ones seem kind of inclined to shift their opinion of him their way.

Sweet Pea is still quietly fuming, but it seems like he’s going to listen to Darwin and let it go for now. All over the yard other inmates have stopped what they’re doing to see what’s going on, a nice little spectacle to entertain half the fucking prison. Which was exactly what Jughead had wanted to avoid. He could kick himself for being that fucking stupid. Doesn’t exactly lend itself to strengthening the point he was trying to make to Sweet Pea any. It’s just, it’s like this place, this whole damn situation has clawed its way underneath his skin and it feels like he’s loosing control, bit by bit and it’s getting worse every time. Especially when it comes to Sweet Pea.

Rubbing a frustrated hand over his face, the bruises there only twinging slightly now as he upsets them, Jughead heaves out a sigh and grabs his book form where it had fallen onto a lower level of the bleachers after he’d dropped it. The cover bears a couple new scratches and scrapes, but other than that it survived the ordeal well enough. There’s that at least. His grip on the paperback is just the smallest bit too tight as he hurries to catch up with the others.

For once, the last free spot left isn’t next to Sweet Pea the way it’s been since they got here – a strategic play to make the illusion Sweet Pea’s been trying to sell more believable, Jughead thinks bitterly now that he knows. Fangs has made sure to place himself in between the two of them this time and Jughead’s kind of grateful for that, although he suspects Fangs didn’t do it for _him._ He’s a little worried, how things are going to be later, after lock-down, once Sweet Pea and him are stuck in a cell together without anyone to act as a buffer to prevent things from escalating again or to step in when they do.

Bubblegum is in the process of setting up another game of cards. Not everyone’s playing, but no-body even bothers to ask, if Jughead wants to join in and he slowly begins to wonder, if it really was the smartest thing to isolate himself the way he’d done right form the start, to put himself apart from the others like that. It sure as Hell isn’t helping him now. But there’s not much he can do about it at the moment, with how high tension still is, the situation just barely diffused and everyone picking up on it. Somehow, it seems like Jughead’s turned into the culprit here.

So he does exactly what he’s been doing, opens his book in his lap and tries to go back to reading, though it hardly works any better than it had earlier. At least lunch isn’t all that far off anymore anyway, he thinks and swallows down a dejected sigh.

~*~*~

It kind of seems like _everyone’s_ watching them in the mess hall. Jughead knows that’s probably exaggerated, but it’s not fucking good is what he’s trying to say. It feels like sitting on a power line with his feet dangling just inches above the ground. No-one says or does anything about it, though. It’s like they’re all just waiting, that same sense of fraught expectation as before. For what exactly, though, Jughead isn’t really sure. For someone to make the first move maybe. To give the start signal for the rest of them to break into motion. That signal doesn’t come though, not yet at least and lunch passes them by without further incident.

Things aren’t any better in the yard afterwards and everyone’s sitting around their table, their shoulders stiff and backs tight with tension. Somewhere along the way, Darwin just kind of vanishes for a while. Jughead’s not sure when he broke away from the group, but by the time they get to their usual table, he’s just gone. Some of the others look a little confused as well, but no-one voices their concern and Bubblegum is quick to start up a conversation, recounting some stupid anecdote that makes most of the others laugh and disperses some of the tension at least.

Call him paranoid all you want, but Jughead can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong and judging from the looks they keep exchanging Fangs and Sweet Pea have picked up on it, too. Jughead’s not sure how much longer he can take this perpetual feeling of unease that sits heavily in his gut, a tight, fluttering knot of tension that refuses to unwind.

About half an hour later Darwin re-joins them. He takes his customary seat acting as though nothing’s out of the ordinary, a cheerful grin on his face that Jughead can’t help but think looks fake and it just serves to fuel Jughead’s suspicion. _Again,_ there’s not much Jughead can do about it now, though.

“Something up?” Sweet Pea asks Darwin across the table, brows furrowed, but Darwin just brushes him off.

“Had to take care of some stuff. Don’t worry about it.” Darwin assures, then turns towards Bubblegum and demands another game of cards be started. And yeah, that’s definitely reassuring, Jughead thinks. Sweet Pea shares another look with Fangs, but seems to decide to let it go for now. Just business as usual, Jughead muses bitterly.

He’s wound too tightly, too worried, to concentrate on reading, so he tries to distract himself with watching the others play or chat, though that serves to help even less. Jughead ends up sitting on his fucking hands, just to keep them still, knee bouncing up and down beneath the table and worrying at his bottom lip instead until the almost healed cut there practically aches.

Fangs is back to sitting between Sweet Pea and him, same as at lunch and they’re talking about something too low for Jughead to catch with all of the rest of the chatter going on around the table. They both look kind of grim, their eyes darting out towards the rest of the yard every now and again. It draws Jughead’s gaze in the same direction. The Ghoulies have re-claimed their spot on the bleachers, head’s ducked together, the asshole form yesterday and this morning waving his hands around as he talks. They’re not paying the Serpents any mind, not really and that in itself seems strange enough.

Maybe Darwin found a way to diffuse the situation a little and that’s why he disappeared? Or maybe they’re just scheming on how to best make their move against the Serpents next. As fluttery as that makes Jughead’s stomach feel, option two kind of seems a lot more likely. God, Jughead hopes their cases get dismissed and they get out of here before anyone can get seriously hurt.

~*~*~

Weirdly enough, things seem a little more relaxed at dinner. The general atmosphere doesn’t feel like they’re caught in a pressure cooker about to explode anymore and Darwin’s purposefully carefree demeanor seems to assure the others into letting go of some of that tension as well. It feels like there are less eyes on them as they get their food and take their seats or like the looks they’re getting are filled with a little less malicious intent at least.

Dinner itself consists of yesterday’s leftovers halfheartedly mixed into an omelet, which works for Jughead just fine, but has some of the others wrinkle their noses and grumble something about cooking lessons for the kitchen staff.

~*~*~

On their way out to the yard afterwards, Darwin falls back until he’s even with Jughead, who as per usual makes up the end of their progression. It’s a little strange, but Jughead doesn’t have very long do wonder about it. As they walk past another, narrower hallway forking into this one, Darwin reaches out to stop him. Jughead walks into Darwin’s arm and almost trips over his own feet in the process of coming to a halt. He frowns and looks up at Darwin in question, not sure what’s going on.

“You and I, we need to talk.” Darwin says, voice hard and unamused.

Jughead can just see Fangs’ back round the corner up ahead and Jughead licks his lips nervously. “Won’t the others wonder where we are?” He tries, an uneasy flutter in his stomach. Somehow, he doesn’t think this is going anywhere good.

“Bubbles knows we’ll be gone for a bit. He’ll make sure no-one feels too anxious about it.” Darwin fists his hand into Jughead’s sweater near his shoulder and starts to pull him along into the other hallway, the look on his face a hard mask of determination. “You’re coming with me.”

Jughead pulls at his grip, digging his heals in a little, but Darwin doesn’t give an inch and Jughead ends up stumbling after him anyway. The guy is pretty damn strong, Jughead thinks, the sinking feeling in his gut getting worse. He thinks about calling out to the others for a moment, but chances are that the Serpents won’t be the only inmates whose attention he’d be drawing and he could just end up making things worse for himself. So he keeps quiet.

Darwin halts in front of a door with a small sign next to it reading ‘Music Room’. Jughead didn’t even know the prison had one of those. It’s at the end of the hallway and it doesn’t seem to be used very often. The hallway itself at least, is empty besides the two of them and there’s plenty of dust gathering in the corners. The door handle, though, has places where the grime on it is smudged, like someone touched it not too long ago. Darwin reaches for it now, pulls the door open on its creaky hinges and shoves Jughead inside ahead of him.

The room itself is about a third as big as the auditorium at Riverdale High, if that, but there’s a lot of natural light, which is kind of surprising compared to the perpetual gloom of the rest of the prison. There are a couple rows of gray plastic folding chairs lined up in two semi-circles with a path in the middle leading up to a slightly raised platform at the other end of the room that’s probably supposed to serve as a stage. But that’s not, what draws and captures Jughead’s attention.

His gaze catches on the group of Ghoulies lounging on a handful of the chairs, amongst them the one who’s been giving Jughead so much trouble the last couple of days. They look up when Jughead stumbles in and the expressions on their faces morph into unpleasant, predatory grins as Darwin closes the door behind himself and drops a heavy hand onto Jughead’s shoulder.

Jughead swallows thickly and tries to take a step back, but Darwin stops him easily. “I hope you don’t mind the audience. Just ignore them for now.” Darwin murmurs close to Jughead’s ear, his breath gusting across Jughead’s skin and making it prickle uncomfortably as he steps around to block Jughead’s view of the room.

“What’s going on?” Jughead asks stupidly, trying hard to tamp down on the panic that wants to bubble up, his pulse jump-starting and his mind racing as he tries to figure out what this is and how the Hell to get out of it.

“I did warn you, you know.” Darwin says, sounding almost remorseful, but there’s something in his eyes, something cold and unrelenting, that makes Jughead think he’s faking it. “I don’t like hurting people, especially not when they’re one of mine, but you don’t leave me much of a choice. You’ve made it plenty clear that you’re not going to change your attitude, if anything it’s only been getting _worse_ and I’m tired of sitting around and waiting for the situation to escalate. So I’ve decided to take measures into my own hands.”

Some of the Ghoulies snicker as Darwin pulls Jughead past them towards the empty stage, but none of them step in or try to come after them. They just sit and watch, their eyes dark and intent and mean as Darwin continues to speak.

“Some people only learn the hard way. And I’m afraid you seem to be one of those.” Darwin tells him as they step onto the slight raise of the stage. Jughead can feel the eyes on him, heavy like physical things and he tries to pull away form Darwin again, but the grip on his arm tightens like a steel band, digging bruises into his skin. He can feel his breathing begin to turn erratic, the flutter of his heart making his ribs feel like a bird-cage.

“The way things are right now, you have exactly two choices.” Darwin tells him, clipped and businesslike, as he shoves Jughead towards the center of the stage. “Either it’s me, who teaches you that lesson – and I can guarantee you that’s the better option for you – or it’s them.”

Jughead glances over Darwin’s shoulder at the Ghoulies. They’ve migrated closer to the stage, exchanged their seats for ones in the front row and the Ghoulie Jughead almost had a run-in with this morning winks at him when he catches his eye. Jughead is quick to snap is gaze away and back to Darwin. His hands feel cold and clammy as he balls them into fists at his sides.

“So what?” Jughead presses out, doing his best to keep his head held high and his shoulders squared, despite how much he wants to shrink back from Darwin. “You’re going to beat me up until I promise to shut up and let Sweet Pea act like I’m his property or something?”

“Yeah, not quite.” Darwin says and reaches out a hand to brush a strand of hair out of Jughead’s face and tuck it behind his ear. Jughead has to force himself to stand his ground and not jerk away from his touch with the way it makes his skin crawl. “’Acting’ doesn’t ever really cut it around here. People see right through that shit. And you’re not very good at it either way. Besides, Sweet Pea’s already proven that he doesn’t have the balls to _go through_ with it, so he’s pretty much off the table. Like I said, it’s me or _them_.”

Jughead’s eyes dart around the room, white-noise rushing through his ears. There’s no-where to hide in here and the only way to the door is straight through Darwin and the Ghoulies. The only things that could potentially be used as weapons are a mop and its bucked tucked into a corner near the door and what looks like a tuning fork forgotten on the sill of one of the barred up windows. Neither are within reach. It’s not like Jughead, alone as he is, would stand a chance against all of them, even if he could get his hands on something. And if Bubblegum’s got some story to sell to the others, that means that no-body’s going to come looking for him, either.

“What about the Ghoulie you had Sweet Pea _stab_?” Jughead tries, grasping at straws, desperate to divert Darwin’s attention somehow, to give himself time to think of a way out of this situation. “Are you really trying to tell me that _killing_ one of them is going to cause less trouble with the Ghoulies than my attitude? I can’t be _that_ fucking important.”

Darwin snorts out a laugh, his hand snaking into the hair at the back of Jughead’s head and tightening until Jughead gasps out a breath at the sting and has to tilt his head back a little to alleviate the pressure. It makes for a weird angle looking up at Darwin and Jughead shudders at the unwanted touch. “Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to do something that’d put my guys in harms way? That kid was alone for a reason. He was fair game and no-body’s going to waste any time crying after him. He fucked up, you see. Became more trouble than he was worth, kind of like you right now, and so his gang ditched him. Besides, he’s fine. Gonna spend a while in the infirmary getting patched back up, but he’s gonna live. Sweet Pea made sure of that. He’s a lot softer than he wants you to think, you know?”

“So.” Darwin goes on, the grip on Jughead’s hair tightening painfully, bringing involuntary tears to the corners of his eyes and making him grasp at Darwin’s wrist, struggling to pull it away, but that just makes it worse. Darwin touching his hair feels _wrong_ , a blatant invasion of what’s his to give or not, intimate in a way that makes Jughead feel sick. “Are you going to be nice and let me show these guys that I’m capable of putting you in your place or are you going to make me let _them_ hurt you? They’re fine with both options, that’s the deal we made. I give them this and they back the fuck off, though I suppose t _hey’d_ prefer option number two. Fucking you up is gonna give them some serious cred, what with you being FP Jones’ son and all. Me, on the other hand, I’d like to keep things civil. If you let me be the one to do it, at least I’ll be able to control how much I hurt you in the process. I’m afraid it’s not gonna be pleasant exactly regardless. But you brought this on yourself.”

Jughead yanks at Darwin’s wrist harder and this time it actually makes him let go of Jughead’s hair. He feels dizzy, like he’s not getting enough air into his lungs and it makes thinking clearly harder and harder. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.” Jughead rushes out like he’s just now coming to the realization. “This is crazy. You can’t be serious.” He knows it’s weak, but it’s the only damn thing he can come up with.

Darwin huffs out a breath and twists up one corner of his mouth into a cruel smile that makes Jughead’s breath catch dangerously, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“I’m sorry. Is the choice I’m offering you too hard for you?” Darwin mocks him, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. “Do you need me to start with something a little more simple? Something you can wrap your pretty little head around more easily? Well, how about this: Strip.” Darwin’s voice is cold and firm and the Ghoulies finally break their eerie silence in favor of hooting suggestively at Darwin’s words.

Jughead can feel the blood drain from his face quick enough to make him lightheaded. “What?” Jughead breathes dumbly, his head a careful blank, refusing to make that last leap of deduction as he takes a reflexive step away from Darwin.

“Come on.” Darwin steps after Jughead, one of his hands grabbing a hold of the front of Jughead’s sweater, the other coming to rest at Jughead’s hip. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart or something? Don’t tell me you haven’t figured out what I’m talking about, yet.”

“Let go of me.” Jughead rasps, his mouth very suddenly dry as he pushes at Darwin’s chest, but Darwin doesn’t budge, his grip firm and determined.

“You’re not getting out of this.” Darwin says, his eyes cold as he moves the hand on Jughead’s hip to push up the hem of his sweater and the t-shirt underneath, exposing part of his stomach. Jughead shudders at the touch and the cold air that rushes in after, one hand coming up to clutch Darwin’s wrist and stop his movement, his breathing loosing its rhythm. The book he'd somehow still been holding onto clatters to the ground loudly. “It doesn’t have to be horrible. That’s all up to you, really. It’s just fucking, after all. No big deal.”

“No big deal?” Jughead chokes out, incredulous, the panicky flutter in his chest rising up into his throat. “What you’re talking about is _rape_!”

“Oh, please.” Darwin actually has the gall to roll his eyes at Jughead and the condescension of the gesture is enough to momentarily replace Jughead’s panic with anger, the heat of it rushing up to tint his cheeks red. “No need to be so crude about it, _princess_. This is just the way things go in here. Someone like you, pretty and delicate and all, ‘s got two ways of getting through his time here. Either you give it up to someone who’ll look after you in exchange, or you’re fair game and people just take what they want, when they want it. I’m trying to look after you, too here, by giving you that choice even after you blew it so badly with Sweet Pea. You should be thanking me, pretty boy. So why don’t you get on your knees and show me exactly how grateful you are, huh? Or are you a fucking virgin or something? That why you’re making such a fuss?”

Jughead can feel the heat on his face grow in intensity, anger morphing into embarrassment morphing back into anger and he shoves at Darwin again, harder this time, finally enough to dislodge his grip and make him let go. “Shut up.” Jughead hisses at him, his voice biting and vile. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but there’s something fundamentally wrong with you!”

“I can’t fucking believe it. You actually _are_ a virgin.” Darwin rushes out an incredulous laugh and waves his hands at Jughead like he’s trying to encompass Jughead as a whole. “I can’t believe that you’re _FP Jones_ ’ son. He has to be so fucking disappointed, huh? Guess that’s why he took so much care to keep you away from the Serpents up til now. ‘Cause he knew you just wouldn’t cut it. You don’t have what it takes to be one of us. He was fucking _embarrassed_ , that’s the only thing that makes sense.”

By the time Jughead’s brain catches up with his body, his fist is already connecting with Darwin’s face. It hurts, his knuckles catching Darwin’s jaw bone, but he’s so angry the pain hardly registers. Darwin stumbles back a step, looking stunned for all of five seconds, then the surprise is replaced by a cold, hard kind of resentment. Jughead tries to block the punch, but he’s too slow and he goes down like a sack of wet potatoes when Darwin’s fist hits him in the gut and knocks the air right out of his lungs.

“Have it your way, then.” Jughead can hear Darwin say over his own struggle for breath, over the rush of static in his ears, and then Darwin moves away. “He’s all yours. Just try not to be too loud about it.” With that Darwin walks through the chairs, past the Ghoulies and back to the door, where he takes up a post like a sentinel, ready to watch the spectacle unfold. There’s no trace of sympathy in his features whatsoever, a fresh bruise blooming lazily across his jaw.

Five shadows fall over Jughead’s field of vision from different angles as the Ghoulies walk over to build a circle around him and he tries frantically to get back to his feet, but he’s too slow. Someone kicks out, the tip of a sneaker catching him in his lower stomach and making him loose his breath all over again, his arms giving out as he crashes back to the floor. He curls into himself reflexively and the next kick hits his spine, pain blooming hotly outward from the point of impact. And they just keep coming, bruising his back, his legs, his forearms where he holds them up to shield his face. One particularly vicious kick connects with his side and makes his ribs creak and startles a yell out of him.

“Get him on his knees.” Someone says above him and then there are hands jamming underneath his harms and pulling him up until he’s kneeling in the center of their little circle, right in front of the guy who’s been giving him all that trouble. He’s tall and dark, the black curls of his hair styled to come together and droop over his forehead, head shaved at the sides. He’d actually be kind of handsome, but that too toothy smile and the meanness in his eyes as he stares down at Jughead ruin any chance at that.

He grabs a handful of the front of Jughead’s sweater and leans down until they’re almost face to face, his breath puffing over Jughead’s skin as he speaks. “Name’s Shawn, princess. Just so you know who it is that’s gonna pop your little cherry. And you can make sure to tell your old man, too. Wonder what he’ll think when he finds out that I turned his precious son into my little prison bitch.” He practically croons, gleeful and malicious.

Jughead tries to pull away from him, but he’s got no-where to go with the other Ghoulie at his back still holding him in place and Shawn uses the grip on his sweater to pull him in until he can smash his mouth against Jughead’s. It’s the second time Jughead’s being kissed since he got here, but Shawn is nothing like Sweet Pea at all. Sweet Pea had been soft, careful, so very intent on not hurting Jughead. Shawn is the exact opposite and all Jughead can feel is revulsion. Shawn’s crushing Jughead’s lips with his own, mashing them against his teeth painfully and when shoving at him doesn’t do anything at all, Jughead resorts to more drastic measures.

Shawn yelps and pulls back, lets go of Jughead’s sweater in favor of wiping a hand across his mouth. It comes away bloody. “Fucker _bit_ me.” Shawn hisses out, furious, and translates his anger into violence by kicking Jughead again. The tip of his sneaker lands square in Jughead’s gut and he doubles over in the other Ghoulie’s grip, fighting for breath and waiting for the pain to subside, his eyes watering dangerously.

Shawn grabs a fist-full of Jughead’s hair and yanks his head up until Jughead’s looking at him again. “We’re gonna teach you a lesson in manners you’re not gonna forget so quickly.” Reaching out his other hand, Shawn runs the pads of his fingers over Jughead’s lip, pulling at it a little to reveal the bottom row of his teeth. “God, you’re just too damn pretty aren’t you? Even the fucking bruises suit you. Add a little somethin’, somethin’, you know? I think we’re gonna get real creative with you, sweetheart. Why don’t we start with you showing me exactly how sorry you are by sucking me off, huh? We’ve got some time to kill before lock-down.”

Jughead jerks away from Shawn’s touch, regardless of how it makes his scalp sting when Shawn’s hand tightens in his hair, another violation of something precious, something that he holds dear and all he wants is to get away from it. He fights the grip the Ghoulie behind him’s got on his shoulders, tries to break free of it, but two others step up to help the guy, each grabbing one of Jughead’s arms and pulling them away form his body, out to the sides, effectively immobilizing him. Shawn nods at the guy to Jughead’s right and then Jughead can feel one of his fists being pried open forcefully, the Ghoulie holding it wrapping a hand around Jughead’s index finger and bending it backwards until the strain makes Jughead’s wrist ache and he makes a weak little sound in the back of his throat.

“You feel that?” Shawn asks smugly as he lets go of Jughead’s hair in favor of pulling down the front of his sweats, his half hard dick springing free and bobbing stupidly. Jughead’s never been up close and personal with another guy’s dick before, hasn’t ever consciously _wanted_ to be, especially not one who’s aroused and the panic that surges up for real now at the sight, makes it hard to think at all, static blanking out the inside of his head like a TV screen with a broken antenna. It’s not even fully hard yet, but from his angle it looks more than big enough already. “If you bite me again, Blue is gonna snap your finger like a fucking twig. And he’s not gonna stop with the one either. So you better be smart and open up wide, babe.”

Shawn cradles Jughead’s jaw in one hand and digs his fingers into Jughead’s cheeks painfully, leaves Jughead no choice but to open his mouth for him, his breath coming hard and fast and he does struggle then, he can’t help it. It’s a desperate exercise in futility, he hasn’t got a chance with three people holding him down, he’s not going anywhere, all he’s doing is hurting himself in the process, but he just can’t make himself _stop_ even as the grip on his finger tightens in warning, making him choke out a gasp. Using his free hand to tug himself to full hardness, Shawn runs the shiny tip of his dick across Jughead’s bottom lip, leaving behind a sticky trail of pre-come.

It feels disgusting and the smell doesn’t exactly make it any better, musky and sharp and Jughead wrinkles his nose at it and helplessly jerks his head away until he bumps against the stomach of the Ghoulie holding his shoulders and he’s got no-where left to go. When Shawn pushes past his lips and into his mouth, the taste is even worse than the smell. Jughead tries to pull back his tongue but it doesn’t end up doing much and there’s salt and bitterness and Shawn is huge and hot and slimy at the tip and Jughead hates every second of it. He gags, when Shawn pushes in too far too fast, then starts to panic, when he doesn’t pull back, Jughead’s throat spasming around the tip of his dick, trying to pull in air, but unable to.

When Shawn does pull out, a thin line of spit connecting the tip of his dick to Jughead’s bottom lip, Jughead coughs and desperately gulps in breaths in between, involuntary tears leaving wet, ticklish little trails down the sides of his cheeks. Shawn has the gall to laugh at him. “Shit, you really are a fucking virgin, huh? God, you’re bad at this. But don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna teach you how it’s done. Just relax and suck a little, hug? Give it some effort.”

Shawn shoves back in before Jughead’s had a chance to catch his breath, his hand a vice-like grip on Jughead’s jaw. He pushes even further this time, until the tip of Jughead’s nose brushes up against the coarse hairs at his crotch and Jughead screws his eyes shut, desperately trying to stop his stomach from heaving. Shawn doesn’t stay like that this time, though, he pulls back and then pushes in again, setting up a fast and ruthless rhythm, just barely leaving Jughead enough time to suck in desperate breaths through his nose in between his thrusts. It’s awful and disgusting, leaving him dizzy with the lack of oxygen, the world going fuzzy around the edges, his stomach cramping up and his throat fighting the intrusion viciously and painfully with each forward thrust and Jughead hates every second of it, the burning ache radiating out from his right hand down to his elbow a harsh counterpoint.

A detached part of him thinks that this shouldn’t be as bad as getting the shit kicked out of him, it doesn’t hurt as much as getting punched in the face with a set of brass knuckles does, but somehow it’s still _worse_. The humiliation of it, his own helplessness cutting so deep he can hardly feel anything else, the horrible forced intimacy of it crossing a line he’ll never be able to come back from. The way every second of it is burning itself into his mind and how he’ll be thinking of _this_ every time he decides to get intimate with someone from now on. It’s not fair, none of it is. He’s so fucking useless and ineffectual, all of the things he’s been trying so hard to prove that he’s _not_.

Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever felt this small or this scared before and they’re only getting started. It’s going to get so much worse before it’s over, a mean, vicious part of his detached mind supplies unasked.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Shawn chants under his breath as he fucks into Jughead’s mouth, his throat, the fingers of the hand not holding Jughead’s jaw in a painful, inescapable grip coming up to trace where Jughead’s wet lashes are sticking to his cheeks. “Fucking take it, pretty boy.”

Then, with a low groan, Shawn pulls out of his mouth and Jughead can feel hot stripes of something viscous and sticky land on his lover face, painting stripes across his lips, his his chin, his left cheek, and dribbling down his neck lazily. Jughead’s tongue darts out reflexively, but he pulls it back with a weak little sound at the bitter, salty taste of it, way more concentrated and intense than Shawn’s dick had been.

Jughead opens his eyes to see Shawn stare down at him, a leer twisting up his mouth as he admires his handiwork and Jughead’s face must be so red it has to look horrible, he can feel it burning with mortification, with the humiliation of it all. As soon as the other Ghoulies let go of him, Jughead brings his sleeve up to his face and scrubs at it furiously, desperately trying to get Shawn’s spunk off of his skin, but he can’t get rid of the tacky, sticky feeling no matter how hard he tries. He feels like someone took a pair of pliers and snapped rib after rib until they could pry his chest open and lay him bare for all the world to see and it’s pretty much the worst thing he’s ever felt. He’s so stupid for crying the way he is, for letting them see him like this, but there’s nothing he can do to stop himself.

“Get his clothes.” Shawn’s voice sounds above him and then there are hands on him again, all over, pulling at his sweater, his pants, everything they can get a hold of and Jughead just kind of looses it in his panic. He fights back with everything he’s got, kicks out and uses his elbows, not even registering the pain, when his bruised one gets jarred in the process, twists away from the hands as best he can, but he can already tell that it’s a loosing fight, panic so thick he’s choking on it.

That’s the exact moment that the door to the Music Room flies open, its hinges creaking loudly as it bangs against the wall with the force of its motion and everyone just kind of freezes in what they’re doing, their heads snapping over towards the sound. There in the doorway Sweet Pea stands tall, a fresh cut on his lip but otherwise intact, Fangs slightly behind him, both of them breathing hard. Sweet Pea’s eyes catch Jughead’s from across the room and the look on Sweet Pea’s face is so intense it makes Jughead’s breath catch. Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever seen Sweet Pea this angry or this scared.

“Get away from him.” Sweet Pea _growls_ and takes another step into the room.

The Ghoulies around Jughead let go of him and turn to face Sweet Pea instead and Jughead scrambles to pull his clothes back into place and scoot away from them, but one of Shawn’s hands grabs hold of his sweater at his shoulder and keeps him where he is. “What the Hell? This wasn’t part of the deal.” Shawn hisses at Darwin, jostling Jughead around. “You better put a leash on your guy, or we’re done playing nice and the deal is fucking _off._ ”

“I said: _get away!_ ” Sweet Pea takes another step towards them, tall and dangerous and one of the Ghoulies takes a step back in turn, almost falling over Jughead in the process.

But before Sweet Pea can get any farther, Darwin moves in to block his path one hand on Sweet Pea’s chest shoving him back. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asks low and with a barely hidden threat in his voice.

“What am _I_ doing? What the fuck were _you_ thinking? How can you sell out one of your own like that?!” Sweet Pea rushes out, his rage stark and explosive like a stick of dynamite and Jughead can hardly believe that Darwin isn’t cowering in the face of it, but standing tall and unconcerned instead, plenty of anger of his own to meet Sweet Pea’s with.

“I’m protecting the rest of my guys!” Darwin hisses at Sweet Pea, one finger stabbing at Sweet Pea’s chest. “I gave your boy fair warning and he decided to shit all over it. This is his own damn fault and _yours_ , too, by the way! If you hadn’t fucked up so spectacularly, none of this would have been necessary. You should fucking know better! I gave you three damn days to get a handle on the situation and you just couldn’t do it! ”

“That’s not –” Sweet Pea falters for a moment, but then anger surges right back in. “I don’t fucking care! Whatever this is, it ends _now_!” He makes as if to shoulder his way past Darwin, but Darwin pushes him back again, harder this time.

“You want him, you do it the old-fashioned way.” Darwin presses out through his teeth, one of his hands planted firmly on Sweet Pea’s chest to keep him where he is. “I’m not gonna stand in your way, but I’m not gonna help you either. And if you decide to step in now, you better be prepared to go through with it this time or I swear to God the two of you are _out_. I’m not gonna let you and your bullshit drag the rest of us down with you! In here the Serpents are _mine_ and there will be consequences if you can’t fucking keep it together.”

“Then get out of the fucking way already!” Sweet Pea shoves at Darwin again and finally Darwin lets him through, steps to the side with his hands raised sarcastically.

“It’s your damn funeral.” Darwin calls after Sweet Pea, then walks back to the door, where Fangs is making as if to go follow Sweet Pea but Darwin stops him. “He’s going to fucking do this alone.” Darwin snarls at Fangs and Fangs looks torn, like he can’t decide what he’s supposed to do, but the way things look he’d have to go through Darwin to get to Sweet Pea and that seems to be enough to keep him where he is for now. Even if he looks anything but happy about it, his whole body practically vibrating with tension.

The Ghoulies around Jughead shift their poses, getting ready for a fight and Jughead sees more than one of them reach into different parts of their prison issue clothes and pull out some sort of weapon, shivs made up out of different materials. This is five against one and Jughead doesn’t think Sweet Pea’s carrying anything more lethal than his fists and while Sweet Pea may be strong as hell and plenty capable when it comes to kicking ass – Jughead has first hand experience in the matter – those odds are not good. The short reprieve caused by Sweet Pea’s entry ends abruptly and he can feel himself sliding back into panic.

Sweet Pea is going to get himself killed because of Jughead. The realization comes like a rush of ice through his veins and all Jughead knows is that he can’t let that happen no matter what.

Jughead’s still on his knees, one of Shawn’s hands fisted into his sweater, but no-body’s paying him any mind and so he’s got the element of surprise on his side. He grabs a fist full of his own sweater, just beneath where Shawn is holding him, and jerks _hard._ Caught by surprise Shawn’s grip breaks and Jughead can wrench away from him. Before the Ghoulie nearest his other side can move, Jughead jams his shoulder into the back of his knee, really throwing his weight into it and the guy topples over with a surprised yell, unbalancing the Ghoulie next to him as he grabs for his sleeve seeking something to hold onto.

Sweet Pea uses the commotion that causes and surges in. He’s the perfect picture of silent fury as his fist connects with the underside of the unbalanced Ghoulie’s jaw and the guy goes down hard, landing on the floor in a dazed heap next to where his friend is already struggling back to his feet. The two left standing at Jughead’s far side come at Sweet Pea at the same time and the fight turns ugly quick. Jughead blinks and there’s a gash on Sweet Pea’s left sleeve, blood soaking into the fabric and then one of the Ghoulies cries out in both pain and surprise, when Sweat Pea gets a hold of his forearm and snaps it over his knee like a fucking twig with one controlled jerk. The sound of the bones breaking is louder than Jughead would have thought possible and it makes his stomach seize with nausea.

The Ghoulie backs away whimpering and clutching his arm, but the one Jughead toppled is already back on his feet and rushing in to help. Right up ahead on the floorboards Jughead can see the plastic glint of something longish and sharp-edged lying next to the shoulder of the Ghoulie Sweet Pea knocked out first, hands still scrambling across the floor clumsily like he’s looking for a handhold to leverage himself up with. A shiv that must have slipped someone’s hand, Jughead realizes with a start and he lurches forward to grab for it, not even sure what he’s going to do with it once he’s got it. All he knows is, if he has it that means no-one can use it against Sweet Pea.

His fingers brush the shiv, but before they can close around it he’s yanked back, at the same moment as a couple of chairs clatter and fall ahead of him. Jughead doesn’t have time to find out what happened, to see if Sweet Pea is OK, because there are hands on him, flipping him onto his back roughly and he makes a hurt little sound when his head bangs against the floor in the process. Then Shawn is on him, straddling his hips and grappling for his wrists.

“You fucking little twink. You’re way more fucking trouble than you’re worth.” Shawn hisses at him, anger distorting his features, twisting them up into an ugly grimace as he gets a hold of Jughead’s wrists and thrusts them down against the floor, the impact harsh and painful as much as the bruising grip itself.

Jughead makes an angry sound, a forceful gust of breath as he tries to buck Shawn off, the sounds of fighting still loud and urgent out of his line of sight. Another clatter of chairs scraping across the wooden boards of the floor, another pained yelp and all Jughead wants to do is twist around and see what’s going on, but he _can’t_. Shawn’s grip is too tight and Jughead doesn’t have any leverage, all of his scrambling accomplishing nothing, even as Shawn lets go of Jughead’s left wrists in favor of pulling back his arm and punching Jughead in the face.

Pain explodes like fireworks high on his cheekbone and Jughead’s head snaps to the side with the force of it. Stars dance across his vision and he tries to lift his free hand to shield himself with it, but he’s too slow. Shawn doesn’t hit him again, but his hand wraps around Jughead’s throat with a horrible sort of intent and a second later, Jughead can’t breathe anymore.

Shawn doesn’t let up, even as Jughead starts to struggle in earnest, bucking against him and clawing at him with his free hand but unable to push him off, to dislodge Shawn’s grip on his throat and in his blind panic Jughead remembers the shiv, remembers that it can’t be all that far away and he gropes for it blindly, desperately. His vision starts to blur, graying out at the edges, his lungs burning with the strain of trying to pull in oxygen that isn’t coming when his fingers close around hard plastic. He doesn’t even pause to make sure he’s aiming with the right end of the shiv, he just brings his hand forward and jams it into Shawn’s shoulder as hard as he can.

Heat shoots through his fingers and the palm of his hand as Shawn yells out above him and then curls in on himself, his hands releasing both Jughead’s throat and his wrist as Shawn reaches up to clutch at his shoulder. Jughead lets go of the shiv and it stays where it is of its own accord. Air rushes back into his lungs in desperate gasps, making him feel dizzy with it, head spinning and thoughts a jumbled mess. He’s about to frantically try and shove Shawn off of himself, when someone does the job for him. Shawn tumbles to the ground, landing on his side and moaning as he grasps at his shoulder, fingers spasming where blood is soaking through the fabric of his sweater.

Then a pair of strong hands slots itself underneath Jughead’s arms, dragging him the rest of the way out from under Shawn and to his feet and Sweet Pea is right there, angry and bleeding, but _alive_. Pulling him along, away form the Ghoulies and towards the exit.

“We’ve gotta get out of here. Guards could be here any minute.” Sweet Pea presses out urgently and as Jughead stumbles along, Sweet Pea’s hands on his arms doing more to keep him upright than his own legs are, he throws a quick glance over his shoulder towards the Ghoulies.

They’re a jumble of bodies strewn about the stage and two of them amongst a handful of fallen chairs. Jughead doesn’t have the time to take note of the magnitude of their injuries, though, he needs his attention aimed at where he’s going. And he really does want nothing more than to get the Hell away. There’s a numbness wrapped around his insides like a thick blanket, something Jughead vaguely, distantly, recognizes as shock, but he has the strong suspicion that that numbness won’t last and he has a feeling it won’t be pretty when it shatters. Both Darwin and Fangs step away from the door to let them through as they approach.

Fangs stares at the both of them wide-eyed, shaken pretty badly, but he’s quick to catch himself and hurry after the two of them.

Darwin on the other hand just looks pissed off, arms crossed in front of his chest and face grim. “What a fucking mess. You better know what the fuck you’re doing.” Jughead can just hear him mutter before Sweet Pea drags him out of range.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Non-Con blowjob, threats of worse, more talk about non-con, some violence, more people getting stabbed, choking. You know, the usual...
> 
> Look at Darwin pulling a 'Hugo Slocum' on Jughead, the fucker! (Yes, that's a Truman Capote reference. There's a move adaption of his book The Glass House form 1972 and it's actually not half-bad, if a bit over the top. Still worth the watch.)
> 
> Also, anyone, who can tell me what move title Shawn's name references gets a virtual cookie. 
> 
> Now enough of my babbling. Don't know why I'm feeling so chatty today...


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here cometh the smut~
> 
> For spoilery, chapter specific warnings please check the end of chapter notes.

~*~*~

His head feels foggy and strange and he’s still unsuccessfully trying to catch his breath. There’s a dull, insistent throb radiating out from his cheekbone and his hand keeps burning for some reason, his chest and stomach ache whenever he moves. He doesn’t even register where they’re going until Sweet Pea finally slows his pace in front of their cell and guides Jughead inside. That makes sense, Jughead supposes vaguely. He doesn’t really have a concept of how much time has passed, but it’s after dinner, so lock-down can’t be all that far off.

“Shit. Come on.” Sweet Pea murmurs and carefully sits Jughead down on his bunk. Then bends slightly at the waist so that he’s more level with Jughead’s face, eyes flitting back and forth jerkily as he takes stock. There’s a stark, shocking sort of fury in Sweet Pea’s gaze still, burning bright enough to make Jughead want to shrink back from him, to make Jughead dazedly wonder what it was he did this time to make Sweet Pea so fucking angry.

But then he catches the softer, more muted hint of fear, of almost panic in the white of Sweet Pea’s eyes, in the way his hands can’t seem to sit still on Jughead’s arms, like he’s trying desperately to figure out if Jughead is still whole when Jughead’s not even sure himself. A shaky breath leaves his aching lungs and burns up his abused throat as he cants forward and lets his forehead lean heavily against Sweet Pea’s heaving chest, eyes slipping closed, he just feels so fucking tired.

As much as Jughead wishes he would, Sweet Pea doesn’t grant him that reprieve, though. Sweet Pea grabs his shoulders and makes him lean back so that Jughead can meet his eyes again, that gaze that feels intense enough to burn right into the core of him.

“What did they –“ Sweet Pea starts but cuts himself off, voice cracking slightly as he stares at Jughead. “Tell me you’re OK.”

Jughead feels like it’s hard to breathe all over again. Sweet Pea’s face is a mess of cuts and bruises, there’s blood staining the sleeve of his sweater and God knows where else he’s hurt, but it’s like he doesn’t even care. All of his focus is on Jughead and Jughead has no idea what to do with that sort of intensity, what to say to make Sweet Pea stop looking at him like that.

He darts his tongue out to lick his lips in a subconscious attempt to stall, finds salt and bitterness there, the taste sharp enough to pierce right through the numbness wrapped around him and as soon as his mind catches up with _what_ that taste is, the numbness shatters completely and it’s all right there again. Panic pulls his chest tight and spots dance across his vision, his lungs straining but still unable to pull in enough air to keep up with his racing heart and then his stomach starts to cramp.

The next thing he knows it’s all he can do to push past Sweet Pea, to break Sweet Pea’s hold on Jughead’s shoulders and surge toward the stainless steel toilet in the corner of their cell. He falls onto his knees in front of it hard enough to send a shock of pain up his spine, and then he’s doubling over and heaving his guts out. Unable to stop until long after the last remnants of his dinner have made their way out and there’s nothing but bile burning up his already sore throat, his stomach a painful, shivering knot of tension refusing to unfurl or to stop aching.

When he’s finally collected himself enough to lift his forehead off of the arms he’s got curled over the bowl of the toilet, Sweet Pea is right there with him, on his knees next to Jughead. His eyes are still a mess, but Sweet Pea’s hands are gentle when he reaches out to press a cool, wet piece of cloth to Jughead’s burning, sweat slick forehead and Jughead screws his eyes shut and presses into the touch.

Sweet Pea’s hands are a little unsteady, but oh so careful as he wipes Jughead’s face clean and Jughead forces himself to hold still and let him, even though all he wants is to yank the cloth from Sweet Pea’s fingers and scrub at his face until the skin comes off. Until that awful crawling sensation underneath subsides and he feels like he can function normally again. His breath hitches and for a moment it’s all Jughead can do to keep himself from crying like a fucking asshole.

He screws his eyes shut tighter and presses the heels of his hands into the sockets roughly as if that will help keep the tears in as Sweet Pea pulls the piece of cloth away from his face. Jughead can feel himself start to shake, teeth almost chattering with the intensity. His body’s natural reaction to slowly coming down from that horrible, prolonged surge of adrenaline, a part of him tries to rationalize.

Sweet Pea’s stillness next to him seems almost helpless, like he doesn’t quite know what to do, but then his hands land on Jughead’s shoulders, a little stiff, grip a little too tight, but warm and strong and grounding and Jughead blows out a shuddering breath that has his chest rattling.

This time, when Jughead leans into the touch, pulls his hands away from his eyes so that he can fall forwards until his forehead is leaning heavily against Sweet Pea’s shoulder, Sweet Pea doesn’t push him away. Pulls him closer instead until it feels like Sweet Pea’s supporting more of Jughead’s weight than he is and Jughead feels stupid and weak and pathetic, but he can’t bring himself to do anything but draw closer to the warmth and solidity that is Sweet Pea, that’s such a harsh contrast to the chill that creeps in from every other angle. Sweet Pea smells like the disinfectant the prison uses as a laundry detergent, like the sharp soap they were given when they got here, like blood and sweat and underneath all that, vaguely, some kind of spice Jughead can’t place, something that’s just Sweet Pea and nothing else.

Jughead uses the sound of Sweet Pea’s breathing, the faint but undeniable rhythm of his heartbeat so close to Jughead’s ear, to try and even out his own breathing, to re-collect himself, to try and find that calm of his. He doesn’t succeed much, but eventually, once Jughead feels like he’s stopped shaking enough to be able to move without making a total mess of it, he reluctantly pulls back from Sweet Pea and looks up at him from underneath his fringe, almost afraid of what he’s going to find staring back at him. Some of the intensity, the immediate urgency from before has drained out of Sweet Pea’s gaze and he just looks grim and pained now, an unhappy twist to his mouth that makes Jughead’s chest ache.

Unable to hold Sweet Pea’s eyes, Jughead averts his gaze and lifts his arm to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve, before he remembers why that’s a bad idea and jerkily stops himself halfway there. His stomach seizes and he feels a fresh wave of nausea bubble up as he struggles to his feet, glad that there’s nothing left _to_ throw up. He doesn’t really feel like going through that again. His throat hurts bad enough as it is.

“I need to change my sweater.” Jughead presses out through clenched teeth at the questioning look Sweet Pea gives him as he helps Jughead find his footing on shaky legs. Talking makes it worse and Jughead re-coils slightly at the unfamiliar sound of his voice, hoarse and gravely and he snaps his mouth shut quickly. Swallows painfully around the lump in his abused throat.

“Yeah.” Sweet Pea says, a little confused, but then freezes, when his steadying hand upsets a bruise on Jughead’s ribs and Jughead sucks in a breath through his teeth and flinches. Wide-eyed and perhaps a little too urgently, Sweet Pea pulls at the hem of Jughead’s sweater and the t-shirt underneath, lifting them up to expose his chest.

Caught off guard Jughead tries to jerk back reflexively, but Sweet Pea holds fast, his eyes fixed on the skin laid bare, face scrunching up into an angry frown and Jughead has to forcibly push down on the panic that automatically surges up. Because this is _Sweet Pea,_ who wouldn’t hurt him, not after he just risked his life to prevent exactly that form happening in the first place, Jughead reminds himself desperately and it’s almost enough to make his escalating pulse slow down some what again.

Sweet Pea’s hand comes up and he brushes the tips of his fingers over a spot on Jughead’s side, low on his ribs, the ticklish feeling making Jughead’s breath hitch. Jughead looks down to try and figure out what it is that’s got Sweet Pea looking so grim and finds a fist-sized, blotchy bruise, fresh and dark and it’s not the only one, either. There are more scattered across his chest and stomach and probably one or two on his back as well, judging by the tender feeling low on his spine.

“I’m fine.” Jughead breathes, without thinking, just to get that look off of Sweet Pea’s face, then realizes just a second too late, that that’s probably a really stupid thing to say right now, that he’s anything _but_ fine. Still, it makes Sweet Pea sigh and back off, even if obviously reluctant, because maybe he gets what Jughead was actually trying to say, that there’s no lasting physical damage, he doesn’t think, or maybe Sweet Pea hears the strain in his voice and translates that into the need to give Jughead some space. Either way, Sweet Pea pulls down the hem of Jughead’s sweater to cover him back up and then lets go of him entirely and takes a couple of steps back.

Sweet Pea turns his back to Jughead and wordlessly pulls his own sweater over his head, his movements jerky and rough. Jughead gets a glance at the cut high on his arm in the short span of time before Sweet Pea’s pulled a fresh sweater over his head, effectively hiding all trace of it. It’s crusted with dried blood and while it doesn’t exactly look pleasant, it doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches either, at least, already in the process of scabbing over on its own. Sweet Pea must have gotten lucky with that one, Jughead thinks somewhat numbly and breathes a shaky sigh as he turns to pull off his own sweater, clenching his teeth against the way the motions upset the tender areas around his ribs.

He does his best to avoid the patches on his sleeve that have dried to become stiff and crusted and unpleasant. Jughead feels a little better once he’s gotten rid of the thing and replaced it with a fresh one from the pile on his shelf, though not by much. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to be able to shake the feeling of that unwanted touch, of those hands in his hair and on his skin and he runs his fingers through the strands, pulls at them in frustration until the tingling in his scalp chases away the phantom memory. He feels like a poorly stitched together rag doll that’s in the process of coming apart at the seams.

It looks like someone came and took their laundry and replaced it with a fresh set of clothes while they were out today and the new sweater he’s wearing now is still a little stiff from the dryer. That, at least, gives him something else to focus on.

Just as Jughead’s turning back around to face Sweet Pea, the call for lock-down comes over the speakers and Fangs, who Jughead hadn’t even realized was still standing in the doorway to their cell curses quietly and retreats across the hallway to his own cell. He looks worried and miserable, the tip of his thumb caught between his teeth as he worries it, the skin around the edges where his teeth dig in pale and drained of blood. Jughead stands there and holds his breath as the other inhabitants of the cell block slowly trickle in, his eyes cast downward and away, his heart racing and his hands clammy.

Only once the door to their cell slides shut with its customary metallic click, does Jughead let go of that breath, though the tension in his shoulders he’d been holding with it stays firmly in place. It’ll be two more hours before lights-out, two hours of no-one being able to reach them no matter what. That thought at least is enough to make him lift his gaze again. Sweet Pea’s still standing next to his own bunk, just as stiff and unhappy as Jughead feels, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself and both he and Jughead flinch, when something clatters loudly along the bars to their cell.

Their heads snap towards the bars in tandem to find the guard on duty doing his rounds to check that everyone’s where they’re supposed to be, his nightstick dragging along the bars lazily. The guy halts and whistles through his teeth when he gets a look at their faces. “Well, shit. What happened to the two of?”

Jughead freezes, his mind an unhelpful blank, but Sweet Pea is quicker to catch himself. “Got into a little disagreement between the two of us. We sorted it out.” Sweet Pea murmurs darkly and throws a sideways glance at Jughead, who takes the hint and ducks his head sheepishly.

The guard snorts out a laugh and narrows his eyes a little. “There’s been a lot of that going ‘round today. Best not make it a habit or we’re gonna to have to toss you into solitary for a while. Give you some time to cool off and get your heads on straight.”

“It won’t happen again.” Sweet Pea says, sure and deliberate and the guard raises a skeptical eyebrow at him but lets it go and moves on anyway, the clatter of his nightstick marking his path further down the hallway between the cells.

Jughead sinks down onto his cot, the strength needed to keep him on his feet whooshing out of him with his next exhale, and slowly makes himself un-clench his fists. He hisses at the way it stings. Looking down at his left hand, brows furrowed in confusion, he takes in the blood crusted on his skin and two long cuts in the midst of it. One running across his fingers between the second and third knuckles and one along his palm, mirroring trajectories. They’re not particularly deep, they just burn when he moves his fingers and he wonders, bewildered, how he hadn’t noticed the cuts before now. It must have happened when he picked up that shiv and jammed it into Shawn’s shoulder, he thinks.

Jughead clenches his teeth and balls up his fist again, fingernails digging purposefully into the cut on his palm until his eyes start to water from the sting of it, until the pain is enough to drown out the tightness in his chest, the burning ache beneath his ribs that flares up out of no-where, fresh and horrible. The mattress dips slightly and he looks up to find Sweet Pea sitting down next to him, movements a little less smooth, a little more jerky than usual. Sweet Pea reaches out a careful hand and picks up Jughead’s tightly clenched fist, uses his other hand to push at his fingers until Jughead gives in to the pressure and uncurls them again and Jughead has to close his eyes for a moment and just concentrate on breathing through this thing that’s choking him up so badly.

He needs something else to focus on, something to take his mind off of… _this_. So he forces himself to open his eyes and look over at Sweet Pea, to utter the question that’s been burning a hole through his tongue since they got back to their cell. “ _Why_ did you do that?” He starts, then winces at how it still hurts his throat to talk. But he pushes past it, swallows, and makes himself go on. “You came back for me. You didn’t have to do any of that. You could have – you could have gotten yourself _killed_.”

There’s that flash of barely contained fury in Sweet Pea’s eyes again, his mouth thinning dangerously and for a moment his grip on Jughead’s hand tightens uncomfortably. But he catches himself and loosens his hold before it can turn painful, sets Jughead’s hand down on Jughead’s thigh gingerly before he answers, not quite meeting Jughead’s eyes.

“What Darwin did –“ Sweet Pea cuts himself off, swallows thickly and runs a hand through his hair before he tries again. “What he did was fucked up as Hell. I’m sorry I didn’t – I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. I should have been there sooner, I should have _stopped_ him before anyone got a chance to touch you, I –. I was too busy being pissed to notice what was happening and then Bubblegum refused to fucking tell me where you were and I just kind of lost it.”

The words are a mess, same as Sweet Pea’s voice and it still doesn’t answer Jughead’s question, even if it makes his chest pull tight and his gums ache. After everything Jughead said to him earlier, the accusations he made, the way he let his anger and frustration get the better of him… It still sounds like Sweet Pea blames himself for this fucking mess. Jughead draws in a breath to tell him that that’s not true, that he fucked up at least as badly, if not worse and there’s so much running around in his head that it’s hard to make sense of it, but Sweet Pea’s not done talking yet. There’s more still.

“I don’t think you’re weak or useless or that you shouldn’t be part of the Serpents. I just think you’re really shit at looking out for yourself. You act like you’re always looking for the worst in people, but the truth is I don’t think you actually _want_ to see it. It’s like you’ve got a huge blind-spot for how shitty people can really be.” Sweet Pea says, his voice lower now, but still full of that harrowed kind of intent, like it’s so fucking important to him that he can make Jughead understand what he’s trying to tell him.

For a moment, Jughead feels the impulse to argue Sweet Pea’s point, to let him know that Jughead is more than capable of looking after himself, thanks, he’s been doing it for a long fucking time and that he sees more than enough. The words die in his throat, though, as soon as he takes more than a second to think about it. As of lately, he’s not exactly amassed the best track record, when it comes to staying out of trouble or making the right choices in regards to estimating the scope of other’s ill intentions. There’s bitterness there and anger and that tight, slick coil of nausea that still twists heavily in his stomach and all Jughead can do is clench his teeth until they ache and let Sweet Pea keep talking.

“This place is so fucked up. The stuff people do to each other here –“ Sweet pea stops himself, takes a steadying breath and then goes on, his words coming faster the longer he speaks. “I was trying to protect you. I thought I could. But you just – I didn’t want to have to explain it to you, I didn’t want you to figure it out at all, because it fucking _sucks_ , but I fucked it up and I wasn’t, I couldn’t –.”

It’s painful and awkward to listen to Sweet Pea struggle like that. Jughead wants to say something, do something that’ll make it easier, but he’s afraid he’ll just end up making it worse, so he keeps his mouth shut and sits as still as he can, as still as his own unease will let him, and just listens.

“I was 15, when I was here the first time. Some bullshit charge for breaking some asshole’s jaw. And it wasn’t even my fucking fault. Him and his pals were the ones, who came to the Southside looking for trouble in the first place, but if you’ve got the word of a Southsider against the word of a Northsider it’s a fucking no-brainer to figure out, who the cops are gonna believe.” Sweet Pea balls his hands into fists where they’re resting on his thighs, then unclenches them again, a motion he keeps slowly repeating as he speaks.

“Got two months in here for my fucking trouble. I hadn’t pledged the Serpents yet, but I knew I was going to and my dad used to be a member, before he took off to fuck knows where and left us high and dry. And when I got here I was the same kind of stupid and stubborn as you. Didn’t wanna do what the Serpents inside asked in exchange for protection. Thought I was tough enough to make it on my own. I lasted about a week before – before they cornered me. There were four of them and I fought like Hell, put three of ‘em in the infirmary for their troubles, but I –. It wasn’t enough.”

There’s a hitch in Sweet Pea’s voice, a rawness stark and piercing that Jughead’s never heard there before and he holds his breath as he waits for Sweet Pea to say his piece. The awful, nauseating clench of his stomach intensifying as Jughead tries his best to keep his mind a careful blank, to not let the images Sweet Pea’s words are trying to conjure up take over. Jughead doesn’t think he could stand that.

“I came crawling back after and the Serpents took me in for the rest of my time here. The point is – the point is I’m about ten times bigger and stronger than you and they _still_ got to me and I just didn’t want you to go through the same shit, alright? But I couldn’t make you _listen_ and you just wouldn’t – I don’t know what it is about you that makes me loose my shit all the damn time and I messed up. It all went to Hell anyway.”

Jughead has no idea what to say to that. It’s so fucked up, all of it and to think of Sweet Pea hurt like that… He can’t picture it, desperately doesn’t _want_ to picture it. He feels overwhelmed and helpless and underneath that there’s a brightly burning fury at this fucking place, at a system that allows _children_ to live under conditions such as these, when it’s supposed to _protect_ them instead. Never mind that Jughead knows first hand how fucking useless and biased that system really is, regardless of that quiet, subdued, stupid, but ever persistent hope that he’ll some day wake up and find that he was wrong, that there’s still a shred of hope and dignity left somewhere in there. But there’s also a quieter, though no less devastating, kind of despair underneath all that. At being here now, at being stuck in this place and if he wasn’t before, then now he really is fucking scared. Terrified more like it.

He doesn’t want to think about what Darwin said, about the situation Jughead got himself into and what that means for tomorrow, when the lights go back on and those bars slide open again. Doesn’t want to think about having inadvertently dragged Sweet Pea into this mess with him and how he has no fucking clue how to make it right.

“I –“ Jughead tries helplessly, but before he can figure out how to finish that sentence, Sweet Pea leans in, face pulled tight with so a grim sort of determination. Slowly, carefully one hand comes up to cradle Jughead’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly across his cheek just below the fresh bruise Shawn gave him and then he’s moving closer still. Until Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s breath gust hotly across his lips and his pulse kicks up at the proximity, at the closeness, an anxious flutter half fear and half anticipation and then Sweet Pea kisses him again.

The press of his lips is soft and gentle, questioning, a heart wrenching kind of vulnerability behind it, mindful of giving Jughead the freedom to pull away should he want and Jughead freezes underneath Sweet Pea’s touch. Then, after a horrible moment of being unable to do anything at all, Jughead tentatively starts to move his lips against Sweet Pea’s, a shaky sigh fighting its way out of him at how it makes his chest feel tight and his knees weak. Sweet Pea is so warm and so solid and the hand on Jughead’s face and their lips are the only two points of contact between them and Jughead feels unmoored. Like he’s floating in the middle of an ocean with no idea which way to head to get solid ground back under his feet and Sweet Pea’s touch is the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Sweet Pea’s lips are warm and dry and soft and Jughead’s skin tingles where they slide across his own and when Sweet Pea finally pulls back Jughead has to put up a conscious effort to keep himself from chasing after him. Then Sweet Pea’s hand drops away from Jughead’s face and Jughead feels unsettled and dizzy all over again, the last point of contact lost.

Jughead draws his tongue across his bottom lip and the way Sweet Pea’s eyes follow the motion, dark and intent, makes the breath catch in his throat and color rise into his cheeks.

“So, you –“ Jughead starts, making Sweet Pea’s eyes snap back up to Jughead’s. “So you actually _like_ me?”

And, yeah, Jughead feels about as stupid about that question as the look Sweet Pea gives him indicates he thinks it is, but he has to voice it anyway. He has to be sure, because right now all he feels is confused, like he can’t tell which way is up and which way is down anymore and the whole world’s just started spinning off its axis, the shock of everything that happened still settled deep in his bones, making him feel like an exposed nerve ending.

“For a smart person you can really be fucking slow.” Sweet Pea huffs out, exasperation trying to cover up the vulnerability, the uncertainty, but Jughead can still see it.

That, all of the things Sweet Pea just told him, are more than enough to floor Jughead, to send his head swimming all over again. It puts a whole new light on everything that’s happened, on the way Sweet Pea’s been acting towards him since they got here, on that first kiss, and Jughead feels blindsided by how fucking wrong he got it all. By how he let his own stubborn pride and his insecurities get in the way of actually _seeing_ Sweet Pea.

As much as Jughead wants to say something that’ll explain what’s going through his head, that’ll stop Sweet Pea from looking at him like Sweet Pea’s expecting him to blow him off in the worst possible way, there’s something else that bullies its way to the forefront of Jughead’s thoughts and once it’s there, he can’t bring himself to see anything else, regardless of how badly he wants to. It’s another question he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want an answer to but he knows he has no choice but to ask it anyway. He clears his throat, the rasp painful but needed to make his voice work again.

“What did Darwin mean, when he – what he said earlier. About ‘going through with it this time’ or we’re both ‘out’ by tomorrow?” Jughead forces himself to say, Darwin’s voice still harsh and stark as Jughead replays the memory. It chases a helpless shudder through him, a fresh wave of nausea, his stomach cramping, the way everything is still too bright and too vivid in his mind’s eye if he lets it wander even in the slightest and as much as Jughead hates himself for asking, he also knows that there’s nothing else he can do. Because this isn’t just about him, it’s about Sweet Pea, too.

Sweet Pea’s posture goes rigid and his face draws tight at the words. He pulls back, giving Jughead more space, his eyes sliding to a spot on the ground, then, reluctantly finding their way back to Jughead’s. Sweet Pea visibly struggles for something to say and all of a sudden Jughead doesn’t have the nerve to wait him out anymore. So he goes ahead and answers the question himself, a harsh sort of bitterness laced through every syllable.

“He was telling you to do what he thinks you should have done right away, wasn’t he?” Jughead forces himself to say, his voice rushed so as to not loose his nerve before he can get it over with. “He was telling you to fuck me. _Now._ Or that’s it for both of us.”

To his own ears, the words sound distant and faint, the pressure building behind his eardrums dulling everything down until it feels cottony and vague. His mind does that blanking out thing again, where there’s the things he needed to say and then nothing, no images or emotions attached to them, no immediate consequences, no follow-up. Just Sweet Pea sitting there and looking at Jughead like someone just took a knife and twisted it into the space between his ribs and that should _hurt_ , but all Jughead can feel is his quickening breathing and the tightness in his own chest and nothing underneath.

“I’m not going to _make_ you do anything.” Sweet Pea presses out through clenched teeth, his whole body a fraught line of tension, his brows furrowed and his eyes haunted and Jughead’s throat closes up of its own volition. He has to fight for his next breath, the spreading dizziness not making things any easier. It’s like wading through a fog, trying to collect his thoughts.

“What happens tomorrow, if we don’t –.” Jughead can’t bring himself to say it again, but Sweet Pea understands plenty well anyway, judging by how his hands clench even tighter where they’re resting on his thighs and how Sweet Pea can’t seem to meet his eyes as he answers.

“Darwin will revoke our status of protection and he’ll make sure _everyone_ knows that we’re fair game.” Sweet Pea’s voice is low and rough, but the words reach Jughead hard and horribly clear regardless. “And anybody with a beef with the Serpents is going to try to use the chance to come after us. Especially you. Since you’re FP’s son and all. And it’s going to be today all over again, only it won’t end the way it did this time. With how tense things are right now, we’ll be lucky if we survive the day. Maybe some of the guys’ll try to stick with us, but all that’ll do is put them in the cross hairs too.”

Jughead doesn’t know if he’s ever been this acutely aware of his own vulnerability before, his and Sweet Pea’s both, that same horrible helplessness all over again and he has no idea how to deal with that feeling. How he’s ever supposed to be able to think of anything else.

“Shit!” Sweet Pea shoves himself up off of the cot and onto his feet hard and abruptly enough to make the metal frame scrape across the floor and against the wall and even though Jughead hates himself for it, he can’t stop the way he flinches at the sudden movement and noise, heartbeat rocketing out of control. Sweet Pea starts pacing between the two bunks, hands pulling at his hair and rubbing over his eyes, all nervous energy and stark lines of tension. Jughead holds his breath and tries to wait him out. Doesn’t know what else to do.

It takes a while, but eventually it looks like Sweet Pea manages to collect himself somewhat, his shoulders dropping with his next exhale, and when Sweet Pea looks at Jughead again there’s a decisive twist to his mouth. Jughead meets his gaze through the semi-protection of his fringe and tries to hold himself still despite the nervous flutter that’s spreading outwards from his chest, an itchy tingle creeping up into his shoulders and throat.

“Do you trust me?” Sweet Pea asks him, his eyes intent and searching and Jughead takes a moment to actually think about that.

He’s terrified and he hates this, hates everything about it with a vicious, miserable kind of intensity. Everything but Sweet Pea. And maybe that’s his answer right there. Words failing him, he nods his head once. The motion takes more effort, than it should, but it makes the look on Sweet Pea’s face soften somewhat and the determination in his eyes flare brighter.

“Good.” Sweet Pea says, voice low so as not to carry. “Because, technically, I don’t actually have to –“ Sweet Pea pauses, darts out the tip of his tongue to wet his lips, drags his eyes back to Jughead’s face where they’d slipped away for a second and goes on. “I don’t actually have to fuck you, it just has to sound convincing enough.”

Jughead lets go of a shuddering breath as Sweet Pea drops back down onto the cot, sideways this time so that he can face Jughead head on. Sweet Pea makes sure he has Jughead’s full attention before he says, eyes wide open: “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”

Jughead swallows thickly and nods again, a jerky, pathetic motion, and it startles him a little to find that he does believe Sweet Pea. He’s still scared and nervous and he can’t shake that faint feeling of nausea that seems to permeate everything he does, but he’s not scared _of_ Sweet Pea. Doesn’t think he could be after everything that Sweet Pea just told him. That doesn’t mean he has to be happy with the situation, though. Doesn’t mean he feels any less tense or less shaky with the building anticipation.

“Now?” Jughead can hear himself say as if from a distance and he feels weird, like he’s only partially inhabiting his own body.

“Might be easier to wait for lights-out.” Sweet Pea amends softly, his mouth turning down at the edges, head cocked sideways and Jughead can’t help but feel like he’s being assessed.

“Alright.” Jughead swallows around the dryness in his mouth, winces at the sting of it and then watches as Sweet Pea offers him a curt nod and gets up to retreat to his own cot, giving Jughead some space.

This has got to be at least as hard on Sweet Pea, as it is on himself, Jughead tries to remind himself, fingers twisting where his hands have interlaced, the tip of one sneaker bouncing off of the cement floor erratically. He doesn’t know how much of the two hours ‘til lights-out are left, but he does know that he’s going to have to find a way to distract himself until then, or he’s never going to make it. The natural trajectory of his thoughts takes him directly to his book, to the soothing drawl of Steven King’s voice in his head, echoing the words on the pages back to him, and he spends a moment looking around for it. His face pulls into a frown, when he can’t find the book, right up until he remembers that he never brought it back with him from the music room.

His breath catches, the phantom touch of Darwin’s hands on his hip, his stomach, suddenly so intense it takes him a moment to convince himself he’s back in his cell and not still up there on that stage, waiting for the worst possible scenario to play out. Hands shaky Jughead fumbles for one of the two other books he’s got stacked on the shelf above his cot. Brings it down to his lap to find the classic cover of Thomas Harris’ ‘The Silence of the Lambs’ glaring up at him. The face of a woman, pale as wax, brown eyes empty and haunting, an African death’s head hawkmoth covering her mouth.

In a sudden fit of anger, the intensity of which catches him completely by surprise, Jughead hauls the book across the cell and then watches, chest heaving and pulse racing, as it rebounds off of the wall and then hits the floor in a sad, tattered heap. He doesn’t look over to see if Sweet Pea is watching him. Instead, he reaches for the last of the books he brought with him from the library, ‘Mindhunter’, realizes that that’s an even worse idea, considering how it starts off and drops his hand back into his lap, defeated. He’s got nothing.

So he leans his head back and closes his eyes tightly, tries to remember where he last left off with his own book, his private little chronicle of the horrors that plague the town he spent pretty much his entire life in. ‘The town with pep’, Jughead thinks bitterly. A place where anyone can be happy, if they just pretend hard enough.

~*~*~

By the time the lights clicking off jerks him out of his thoughts, Jughead is a jittery ball of nerves, his skin crawling with a twisted sense of anticipation. He opens his eyes when the cot across form his creaks softly and the dim trickle of light that creeps into their cell from the small, barred window high up on the wall to his left is just barely enough to let him make out Sweet Pea’s silhouette as he moves to cross the space between them.

Jughead sits up straighter, his hands bracing on the thin mattress covering the frame of his cot, the cuts on the left one faintly burning and itchy. Swallowing painfully around the thick lump in his throat Jughead scoots further towards the head of the cot and pulls up his legs until he’s sitting cross-legged and facing Sweet Pea as he lowers himself onto the mattress near the center. Close enough that all Jughead would need to do is shift his foot to bump Sweet Pea’s thigh with the tip of his sneaker.

Sweet Pea leans slowly closer in the dark and all of a sudden, Jughead’s not sure, if he can do this anymore. Outside of their cell, the sounds begin to kick off, rustling and shifting and low gasps and grunts. Soft now, but it’s going to get worse soon enough, Jughead knows. He tries to breathe, but it’s like no matter how hard he tries he can’t get enough air into his lungs, the harder he struggles the more light-headed he feels. Sweet Pea’s hands come up to cradle his jaw and Jughead flinches at the contact, eyes screwing tightly shut.

“Hey, look at me.” Sweet Pea’s voice, soft and low, weaves its way through the panic-induced chaos in his head and slowly, grudgingly Jughead forces himself to comply, to open his eyes and meet Sweet Pea’s steady gaze. “Just try to – try to focus on me and tune everything else out. Try to relax. I said I wasn’t going to hurt you. I meant that.”

Sweet Pea sounds starkly earnest, if a little twisted up himself, his thumbs stroking over Jughead’s cheeks in gentle little half-circles, the one on the left just so avoiding the bruise there and Jughead _does_ believe him. He’s just not sure he can do what Sweet Pea’s asking him to. Jughead knows, though, that he owes it to Sweet Pea to at least try and so that’s what he does.

Concentrating on the warmth of Sweet Pea’s broad hands, on how careful their touch is, the farthest thing from threatening Jughead can imagine, on the soft rustle of cloth as Sweet Pea shifts his weight closer to him, the feel of the coarse wool of his blanket where his palms and fingers dig into the fabric firmly, Jughead tries to make himself take longer, deeper breaths instead of the rushed little gasps that are robbing him of as much oxygen as they’re getting him. And, slowly, painfully, he manages to calm himself down at least a little.

He can see the outline of Sweet Pea’s face, his features growing more discernible the closer he gets and Jughead can make out the pronounced curve of his mouth, the stark white of his eyes, when Sweet Pea moves in. Jughead’s own eyes flutter closed again as soon as Sweet Pea’s lips settle over his.

The kiss feels different this time. Still gentle, but firmer, filled with intent, heat building up as their mouths slide against one another, Sweet Pea pushing against him, using his hands to tilt Jughead’s face into a better angle and Jughead’s pulse kicks up as he lets himself be manipulated. It’s still more than half fear that’s got his breathing quickening again, but there’s a thread of something else laced into it now. A hesitant sort of curiosity, something not entirely unpleasant, and Jughead does his best to focus on that.

Lets his lips part instinctively when Sweet Pea’s tongue slides along the corner of his mouth, wet and hot, careful like a question. Holds still when Sweet Pea takes that as a permission to deepen the kiss. It’s a little weird, having someone else’s tongue in his mouth, makes the kiss turn wet and kind of sloppy, but at the same time it’s got his stomach doing a fluttery little dance and his hands feeling shaky and a little clammy where they rest on the blanket. It feels more intimate like this, Sweet Pea’s tongue brushing against his, hot and ticklish, gently coaxing him into responding, into kissing back and he can’t help the low moan that bubbles up at that, Sweet Pea shifting closer in turn.

Jughead’s never kissed anyone like this before. Sure, Betty and him, they’d done some making out and they’d even actually gotten kind of close to sleeping with each other that once, before they were interrupted, but somehow, introducing tongue to the mix hadn’t felt natural enough to do. He’d been too unsure of himself to try, not wanting to botch it because he didn’t know what he was doing and Betty’d never given any hint of wanting to either. But all thinking of Betty now does is send a harsh pang of hurt through his chest, threatening to make him lose his focus on what Sweet Pea is doing and slip back into panic and he tries instead to hone in on the thrill that Sweet Pea fucking his tongue into his mouth sends down his spine and that has him shudder helplessly beneath Sweet Pea’s touch.

Sweet Pea moves a hand away from Jughead’s face, lets the tips of his fingers slide down the side of Jughead’s neck, a wave of goose flesh chasing after his touch, making Jughead suck in a startled breath through his nose and pull up his shoulders. Sweet Pea’s palm flattens out over Jughead’s collar bone, then moves to the center of his chest and starts to push him gently but firmly back and down. At the sudden sense of vertigo Jughead throws his own hands up to clutch at Sweet Pea’s shoulders, going rigid as he sinks back onto his pillow, Sweet Pea looming over him, one palm braced next to Jughead’s head and the other still wide and hot on his chest, caging him in.

When Sweet Pea pulls back, Jughead finds himself gasping for air, the harsh rise and fall of his ribs pressing into Sweet Pea’s palm and Jughead feels dizzy all over again, his head spinning wildly. Sweet Pea moves back even further until Jughead’s hands slip away from his shoulders and fall back to the mattress uselessly, sits up on his haunches and reaches down to untangle Jughead’s legs. Lets his hands slide down first to one ankle, pulling the prison issue sneaker off of his foot and letting it drop to the floor next to the bunk, then sets Jughead’s foot down on the mattress next to Sweet Pea’s hip, leg bent at the knee, and repeats the same motions on the other one.

Until Sweet Pea is framed by Jughead’s thighs and when he leans back down to kiss Jughead again, his hips push them further apart. It makes Jughead feel weirdly vulnerable, exposed even though he’s still wearing all of his clothes and his thighs press in against Sweet Pea’s sides of their own accord, his hands coming up to spread out against Sweet Pea’s chest and Jughead only barely manages to not try and push him away. Sweet Pea is hot to the touch, even through two layers of cloth, his body heat seeping through easily, chasing away the chill that has crept into Jughead’s fingers.

He’s solid and real and alive, Sweet Pea’s breathing speeding up as they kiss and then one of Sweet Pea’s hands is back on Jughead’s chest, fingers spread out wide and slowly moving down, the weight of his palm firm and sure. Jughead’s breath hitches when Sweet Pea presses down on a tender spot on his ribs and Sweet Pea nips his bottom lip in apology and moves past the bruise. By the time Sweet Pea’s palm reaches the waistband of his sweats, Jughead’s pulse is a rush of white-noise in his ears, the tips of his fingers digging helplessly into the fabric of Sweet Pea’s sweater and there’s an entire swarm of butterflies running rampant in his stomach. A heady mix of tension, heat, fear, anticipation, all tangled up until he can’t tell them apart anymore.

Then Sweet Pea’s hand slips lower still, no hesitation at all when it moves to cup Jughead through his sweats and boxers and Jughead’s breath gets stuck in his throat, his hips canting into the touch of their own volition. Sweet Pea rubs his hand back and forth over Jughead’s dick, small, precise motions, just the right amount of pressure and it’s the first time Jughead’s got someone else’s hand on him and it’s weird but at the same time so much better than he’d thought it would be.

Blood rushes south, makes him fill up and firm under Sweet Pea’s touch and Jughead’s face burns with the sounds he’s unable to hold back, little gasps and whimpers that tickle when they move up his throat, that dwindle out into nothing, Sweet Pea swallowing them up as soon as they slip past Jughead’s lips, heat spreading slowly but surely out from his crotch into his belly, up to his heaving chest.

There’s a louder noise from somewhere down the hall, a clatter of metal against concrete followed by a high, pained groan and Jughead flinches so hard he almost unbalances Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea seems to take that as a cue to up his effort, presses down harder where he’s stroking Jughead through his sweats. Movements picking up their pace and he breaks away from the kiss, leaving Jughead’s lips spit-slick, tingling and tender, to trail a path of searing kisses down the side of Jughead’s face, his neck until all there’s room for in Jughead’s head are those two points of contact, the way it feels where Sweet Pea’s touching him.

Sweet Pea’s lips on his neck are wet and ticklish and intimate and hot, chasing a shudder down Jughead’s spine and he can’t decide if he wants to pull away or lean in closer so he goes for the middle ground and doesn’t move at all, lets Sweet Pea guide him along, focuses on trying to catch his breath, on the feeling of his racing heart thudding erratically against the inside of his ribs.

Sweet Pea’s free hand moves to grab the hem of Jughead’s sweater and the t-shirt underneath and then pushes until they’re bunched up underneath Jughead’s arms and Jughead gasps and shivers at the cold air rushing in. There’s another, barely muffled sound, a strangled moan from just a few cells down the hall, but Jughead barely registers it as Sweet Pea’s mouth moves down to his chest, his lips attaching themselves just beneath Jughead’s collarbone and applying suction until the skin there prickles and stings, Sweet Pea’s fingers brushing across a nipple peaked from the cold and sending sparks low into his belly. Jughead whimpers when Sweet Pea pulls away with a lewd pop, then blows a hot breath across the wet, throbbing patch of skin, Jughead’s face growing hotter with embarrassment.

It’s all such a mess, too much and not enough at once and Jughead thrusts his hips up into Sweet Pea’s palm desperately, looking for more but not knowing how to ask for it. Sweet Pea tightens his grip on Jughead’s dick and swipes his tongue, broad and wet and hot, across Jughead’s nipple and the electric shock of sensation has Jughead moaning helplessly, the sound overly loud in the otherwise quiet of their cell. Jughead yanks one of his hands away from Sweet Pea’s chest and slaps the palm across his own mouth, face flaming, mortified.

Sweet Pea stops what he’s doing to look up at Jughead in the dark and he brings one hand up to circle around Jughead’s wrist and carefully but firmly pulls Jughead’s hand away form his mouth. Presses it into the pillow next to Jughead’s face pointedly. “This is about you being loud, remember?” Sweet Pea mumbles, his lips brushing against Jughead’s chest as he speaks and ends with a short little nip, the barest hint of teeth and Jughead’s dick twitches beneath Sweet Pea’s palm.

“Fuck.” Jughead forces out through his teeth, screws his eyes tightly shut and presses his head back into the pillow as Sweet Pea moves further down Jughead’s chest with his hand and his mouth and Jughead forces himself not to think as he lets the soft little ‘ah’s, the hitching breaths, slip past his lips. He feels torn between the embarrassment of it all and the rising heat low in his belly, the rush of blood in his ears, his uneven breathing and racing heart and when Sweet Pea moves low enough that Jughead’s hand slips away from his chest, sliding up to grasp at Sweet Pea’s shoulder instead, another quiet wave of panic seeps into the mix. Makes his stomach flutter madly and his gums ache as Sweet Pea paints a wet trail with his lips and his tongue down from Jughead’s belly button to the elastic band of his sweats.

Then Sweet Pea makes Jughead lift his hips off of the mattress so that he can pull Jughead’s sweats and underwear off of his hips, Sweet Pea’s fingers hooked beneath the waistband, lifting it carefully over Jughead’s straining erection and Jughead sucks in a sharp breath as the cool air hits the hot, throbbing stretch of his skin. He can’t help but look down then, driven by a morbid sense of curiosity, the fingers of his free hand twisting tightly into his pillow and he opens his eyes just in time to watch Sweet Pea wrap a hand, warm and broad, around the base of his dick firmly and then, before Jughead has a chance to process what's about to happen, bend low to swallow him down. Wet, velvety heat closes around the head of his dick and Jughead moans, loud and filthy, hips trying to buck up, to get more of that feeling but pinned to the mattress by Sweet Pea’s hand on his hip.

“Oh, _fuck_.” Jughead chokes on his next breath when Sweet Pea applies suction, his cheeks hollowing out, lips sliding down to meet his fingers and the tip of his tongue pressing into the slit at the top of Jughead’s dick. He almost comes just from that, so fucking close, that familiar pressure low in his stomach. But Sweet Pea must sense what’s going on, because he moves his hand until it’s only his thumb and his forefinger circling the base of Jughead’s dick and then applies pressure and all of a sudden Jughead _can’t_ come anymore, pulled back from the edge just so.

“ _Sweet Pea_.” Jughead whines, his hand shoving uselessly at Sweet Pea’s shoulder while Sweet Pea swallows Jughead down further, until his nose brushes up against the soft curls of dark hair low on Jughead’s belly, the tip of Jughead’s dick hitting the back of his throat. Sweet Pea hums and the vibrations send a shock of electricity down Jughead’s spine, then starts to build up a rhythm, quick and efficient, the pressure in Jughead’s belly building, rising up and up but with no way to reach release and Jughead’s voice rises helplessly as he tries to find a way to process what he’s feeling, the intensity of it.

It’s like he’s a live wire, electricity rushing every which way, nerve endings on fire and it’s more than he knows how to handle, but Sweet Pea has him pinned, won’t let him pull away regardless of how desperately he tries. And then Sweet Pea’s free hand comes up to Jughead’s mouth, two of his fingers slipping effortlessly past Jughead’s parted lips where he’s feebly trying to suck in breaths and Jughead doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with them, can’t muster enough brain cells to figure it out. Works on instinct, his tongue pushing back against the digits as the pads of Sweet Pea’s fingers stroke across it, twist and move until they’re wet with Jughead’s spit and Sweet Pea pulls them out again, leaving a wet mess behind on Jughead’s lips and chin.

He has barely a moment to vaguely wonder what Sweet Pea is doing before Sweet Pea’s hand slips down beneath him, Sweet Pea’s palm moving to cup his balls and then the tip of one slicked up finger presses against Jughead’s ass, against the tightly furled ring of muscle there and Jughead clenches up on instinct, his hips trying to stutter back form the touch but unable to with the way Sweet Pea is still holding him down. Helpless tears spring to the corners of Jughead’s eyes, he feels completely overwhelmed, heat licking across every inch of him, his skin too tight, like he’s expanding from the inside out and it’s too fucking much.

And then Sweet Pea takes him down all the way again, throat working around the tip of Jughead’s dick as he swallows around him, uses the distraction to slip his finger in, a careful but unrelenting pressure, going and going until Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s knuckles press up against his ass, the stretch and burn of the intrusion coming to him through a dizzying haze of pleasure and Jughead archs his back off of the mattress with a shout.

He thinks he hears someone wolf whistle down the hallway, but it’s there and gone again, Jughead has no capacity left to focus on anything other than what Sweet Pea is doing to him, the heat so intense it’s threatening to swallow him up completely. And then Sweet Pea’s finger crooks and presses down firmly against something inside of him that has fireworks going off behind the closed lids of his eyes and he’s just gone.

Through the all-consuming haze of white-hot pleasure so intense it’s painful Jughead is only vaguely aware of the fact that he’s babbling. Saying Sweet Pea’s name over and over again, like a mantra, begging him to do what Jughead doesn’t even know. All he does know is that he needs to come so badly he thinks he’s going to loose himself if Sweet Pea doesn’t let him and the feeling is kind of terrifying.

That’s when Sweet Pea pulls back just the tiniest bit, until the tip of Jughead’s dick sits on his tongue rather than against the back of his throat, loosens the circle of his fingers around the base and presses down against that bundle of nerves inside of Jughead again, all at the same time. Jughead comes with a shout, so intensely it whites out his vision, his perception of the world around fizzling out into nothing but the ringing in his ears and his own panting breaths and the heady relief that crashes over him like a tidal wave. Doesn’t even register as Sweet Pea pulls away and sits back on the cot, too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Jughead doesn’t know how long he’s out, but it has to be a while. When he finally starts to come back to himself, he’s a sweaty, panting, fucked out mess, bone tired and limbs uselessly splayed across the mattress. He’s never had an orgasm that fucking intense before, didn’t even know it was _possible_ in the first place. His pants are tucked back up and his sweater down, clothes righted and decent and Jughead feels dizzy, his face hot and his stomach burning form the exertion.

Sweet Pea is a dark and looming shadow at the other end of the cot, watching him carefully, but not touching. The rest of the cell block has grown silent around them. Jughead has to clear his throat twice before he manages to speak and even then he makes a mess of it, his brain slow and sluggish to catch up with him.

“Fuck.” The word slips out on an exhale, low and quiet and his voice sounds even worse than before, the rasp in his throat dredging up memories of how loud he’d been, the kinds of sounds he’d made just then and even though his face still feels hot and sticky a fresh wave of embarrassment rushes blood-warm into his cheeks.

Sweet Pea snorts out a laugh, an eerily disembodied sound in the darkness around them and he sounds tired and tense and restless when he speaks. “You alright?”

“I think so...” Jughead tells him. He feels warm and fuzzy all over, his fingertips tingling and his stomach pulled tight, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his overly sensitive skin. Aside from that, he doesn’t really know how he feels, other than dead-tired.

Sweet Pea lets a hand drop onto Jughead’s ankle, his fingers circling loosely, a grounding counterpoint to Jughead’s spinning head, and he doesn’t try to pull away. Isn’t sure he could muster the coordination necessary to do so even if he wanted to.

“Did it work?” Jughead blurts out, the memory of _why_ they did this whole thing in the first place plopping to the forefront of his mind unbidden, tightening his throat and threatening to chase away the warmth of the afterglow he’s still floating around in.

Sweet Pea’s hand on his ankle squeezes tighter, then loosens again. “We’ll know tomorrow.” He says, a sigh following after the words, then pulls his hand away for good. Jughead feels the loss more sharply than he perhaps should. “Try to get some sleep.”

With that Sweet Pea heaves himself up off of Jughead’s bunk and makes his way the couple of feet over to his own. There’s the rustle of cloth on cloth as he gets situated and Jughead just lies there and listens to him trying to get comfortable for a while, his own breathing slowly but steadily evening itself out. He should probably try to get the blanket out from under him, he thinks, the chill of the night already creeping back in, cold fingers insistent against his skin where the sweat is beginning to cool, matching the hollowness he can feel settle back into his chest as the endorphins slowly fade from his system.

It takes him embarrassingly long to get his limbs under control enough to manage the task, hands clumsy and legs feeling like they’re filled with jelly, but eventually he pulls the blanket up to cover himself and he sinks back onto the pillow with a tired sigh.

He just had his first time.

With Sweet Pea.

He’s had a lot of firsts today. His mind, always helpful, throws the thought at him like it’s a hand grenade. And while he kind of thinks the explosion should be severe enough to rattle him down to his bones, it doesn’t even manage to stop his eyes from slipping shut, exhaustion pulling at him insistently and undeniable.

Tomorrow won’t be so forgiving, a part of Jughead’s consciousness, the small, weak part that’s still left intact, tells him. Tomorrow will be harsh and cruel and offer no reprieve from today’s happenings, but for now, the pull of unconsciousness is stronger than all of that and Jughead drifts off from one heartbeat to the next, his body heavy and warm as it presses down into the mattress.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Very, very vague discussions of non-con in relation to Sweet Pea, though it could be interpreted differently and you are welcome to do so, if you want. Although both parties are into each other (I think we're past the point of pretending otherwise, if we ever were there to begin with), the intimacy is definitely dub-con, due to the overall circumstances. 
> 
> Please take care and be mindful of your needs and potential triggers. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me for this long. I love you all dearly. And there is definitely more coming your way, still <3
> 
> Maybe I should just make peace with the fact that I simply can't do _short_ , already. I'm sorry?
> 
> Also, as a side note: Should you find any typos or inconsistencies, you are more than welcome to let me know and I will do my best to fix them. I have no beta and while I proof-read multiple times before I post, you never quite catch everything...


	6. Chapter Six

~*~*~

Morning comes much too soon and much too harshly. Jughead feels sore all over, his cheek throbs, his throat burns and his ribs are tender and complain whenever he breathes in too deeply or moves too abruptly. And on top of all that, the reality of everything that happened yesterday is stark and much too bright, right at the forefront of his mind. He has a hard time meeting Sweet Pea’s eyes, heat rushing into his face and making him duck his head whenever he tries.

Jughead holds his breath when the doors to their cells slide open and they have to step out to face the world, but apparently it actually did end up helping, the ‘show’ they put on last night, and Jughead is a little surprised by how much, how viciously he hates that.

People still stare, Jughead feels it sharply, and they get a lot of unpleasantries, whistles and comments that make Jughead’s face flame with mortification, fueling the overwhelming need to find a secluded corner he can hide in and never come back out. But that perpetual undercurrent of barely contained violence and animosity, at least, has died down some. It no longer feels as immediately threatening as it did before. Even Darwin seems more relaxed.

The fucking asshole actually has the gall to go so far as to pat Sweet Pea on the shoulder approvingly. “Fucking finally. I knew I could count on you. Next time just don’t draw it out like that, man. You must have really gone for it, the way you made him scream.” Darwin drawls at Sweet Pea and aside from throwing Jughead a dirty grin opts to ignore him entirely. Jughead bristles at the insult, the condescension, and the surge of anger that rushes into his chest at it is hard to swallow down and keep contained, but Sweet Pea’s arm around his shoulders holds him back, same as the tiredness weighing him down.

Most of the other Serpents follow Darwin’s lead in the way they treat Jughead. It seems now that he’s no longer a ‘problem’, he’s no longer worth their attention either, aside from the occasional curious or speculative glance. It kind of feels like Sweet Pea’s shadow just swallows him up, drowns out his significance as self-contained person of his own or something. It’s a hard pill to swallow and all Jughead has left for the other Serpents just then is a heated kind of resentment.

The only ones acting any differently are Fangs and a few of the younger Serpents that came in with them, although most of them seem primarily embarrassed and unsure about what to do with the current situation. When they meet in the hallway, Fangs looks about as mortified as Jughead feels and he gives both Sweet Pea and Jughead confused glances, but refrains from asking any questions as long as the others are around. For that alone Jughead is more grateful than he can say.

In the mess hall Jughead freezes when he sees Shawn and his friends sitting at their usual table with the rest of the Ghoulies. They’re obviously banged up, one of them wearing a cast around his arm and the sweater over Shawn’s right shoulder bulges slightly over a pad of gauze covering the stab wound, but still right fucking there. It doesn’t make sense. Jughead has no idea how they managed to get out of being put into solitary or _something_ after the fight yesterday, in fact, it’s strange enough that neither Sweet Pea nor he got into any trouble for that either. They must have kept quiet about what happened when the guards got to them. Can’t get revenge, if you’re in solitary, Jughead thinks and feels the knot in his throat pull tighter.

Sweet Pea wraps an arm around Jughead’s waist and makes him start moving again, leans low, mouth close to Jughead’s ear as he speaks. “They’re not going to try anything. Not after yesterday or now that we have the rest of the Serpents backing us up for good.”

Jughead shudders at the way Sweet Pea’s breath ghosts over his skin, the memories of his touch still fresh and stark and Jughead swallows thickly around the dryness in his mouth. He feels different. More aware of himself, of his body, in an unfamiliar, distracting sort of way and Sweet Pea’s too, his proximity something Jughead can’t easily ignore anymore, something that makes his skin prickle with goose flesh and his chest grow warm. He feels more scared than he’s used to, as well and he pushes down harshly on the feeling that makes his skin crawl as they pass the Ghoulies’ table with their trays in hand.

He’s uncomfortably conscious of the fact that while the bruises on Sweet Pea’s face just serve to make him look tougher, the bruises he carries on his own face, around his neck, just serve to make him look like more of a victim. Especially now that the entire fucking prison thinks that Sweet Pea fucked him hard enough to make him scream last night.

It all adds up, builds and twists to feed that strange, wounded hollowness that sits heavy in his chest. It’s hard to think around it, hard to remember, who he’s supposed to be, who he was before he got here. And to top it all off, there’s that horrible feeling of guilt low in his gut that feeds into the ever present hint of nausea he can’t seem to shake. Guilt for Sweet Pea’s part in the whole deal, because Jughead isn’t the only one here who had to make any sacrifices.

But also, for Betty. For what they had before she decided to break his fucking heart. He’d been so sure that his first time would be with her. Something special to be shared between two people when they both felt that the time was right. Something with meaning. Not a thing to be given away because he had no other choice, because it was either that or get both himself and Sweet Pea killed.

Maybe that notion was overly romantic, a stupid sentiment to hold onto, but it’s still hard to let go of it, to watch it die bloody on the dirty concrete floors of Leopold and Loeb and the ache in his chest stays solid and real.

He doesn’t try to fight it anymore, when Sweet Pea makes a point of touching him in public, keeping him close. Doesn’t argue when Fangs lets him have the place next to Sweet Pea again, just sits and keeps quiet and lets the others talk and laugh and pretend he’s not even there. Sad as it is, he’s used to this, to being ostracized, to being the odd one out, the weird kid no-one wants to associate with lest they get ousted as well. What he’s _not_ used to, is being objectified liked this and it isn’t hard for him to sympathize with why girls resent it so fucking much when it happens to them.

One of Darwin’s friends, Deadbolt Jughead thinks his name was, a short but stocky guy with long redish-blond hair actually has the gall to come up to Sweet Pea after breakfast and ask if maybe he could ‘borrow’ Jughead for a bit. Jughead doesn’t think he’s meant to overhear, but he does and the look on Deadbolt’s face when Sweet Pea punches him square in the nose for his troubles should give Jughead some satisfaction at least, but it hardly helps to loosen the ball of tension in his gut, made up out of anger and resentment and humiliation, at all.

There are no more books for him to read and he doesn’t even try to ask to go to the library again, not after what happened last time. So all he can do is sit quietly and think, and think, and think. A quick and painful downward spiral. He keeps coming back to all of the things that hurt, gets stuck on them, inescapably. The fact that he now knows what some other guys dick in his mouth feels like. To Betty and Archie, to his old life and all of the people in it that are no longer there, that abandoned him as soon as he moved to the Southside for good. To his dad, who’d probably hate him, be disgusted by him, if he ever found out about what he’d done, what he’d let others do to him. His dad who’d never let anything like this happen to himself, tough and hard in a way that demands respect, in a way that Jughead will very probably never be.

To his credit, Sweet Pea doesn’t look any happier about the situation, than Jughead. He puts up a good front, but Jughead can see the cracks in his veneer, the lines of tension underneath, the moroseness in the downward twist of his mouth. Knowing these things, being aware of the fact that this whole situation eats away at Sweet Pea as much as it does at Jughead doesn’t really serve to make him feel any better, though. It just adds to his overall misery.

When they get back to their cell that night, no worrying incidents to speak of during the day, Jughead tries, for a moment, to come up with something to say, feels like he should try, at least, to clear the air between them. But anything he can think of just sounds hollow and false, and it feels like there’s nothing he can do to make this fucking situation any easier on either of them. So, again, he keeps his mouth shut and Sweet Pea does the same. It’s weird, how much more aware Jughead is of his presence now, of Sweet Pea’s closeness, his skin prickling with a sense of memory whenever he comes near, an odd sort of tension heating up the air between them, making it feel electric and strange, filled with potential.

Jughead is half afraid that Sweet Pea will say that they’ll need to do it again, to keep up appearances or some such other bullshit. To his relief, though, Sweet Pea doesn’t, makes no move towards Jughead at all. He looks like he might want to say _something_ , for a moment, like he’s struggling with himself trying to find the right words, but in the end he stays quiet and keeps to his own bunk, giving Jughead all the space he can. Jughead wonders unhappily, whether what happened last night took that tentative thing he’d started to realize had been growing between the two of them and broken it for good. He knows complicated and fucked up well enough, has had to deal with it all his life, almost feels like an expert in the field, but this particular brand of twisted is new even to him and it leaves him at a loss.

When the lights finally click off, the settling darkness offers no sense of comfort at all and Jughead is quick to grab the roll of toilet paper on his shelf and stuff wadded up pieces of it into his ears before the noises can start up again. When he moves to put it back a thought hits him and he lets his fingers slip beneath the pile of fresh clothes, searching. But there’s nothing there. No trace of the half-eaten chocolate bar he’d shoved underneath two nights ago. Someone must have taken it when they were exchanging his dirty clothes for clean ones, Jughead thinks and pulls his hand away again. He can’t explain why the sense of loss and regret that hits him is as harsh and intense as it is, it’s stupid and it doesn’t make sense, but no amount of rational can make him feel any better about it.

He curls up on his bunk facing the wall, wrapped up in his stupidly thin blanket, hugging himself in an attempt to keep it together, to wait out the painful pull in his chest until it feels like he can breath without having to work for it again.

~*~*~

Two days later, Thursday just after breakfast, a hand full of guards come to collect Jughead and the rest of the younger Serpents from the yard. Nobody tells them what’s going on until they step into a small room apart form the rest of the prison where their things are stack onto a row of metal benches, neat and orderly little piles, one for each of them and one of the guards finally makes the announcement that they’re being released. Apparently their cases have been dismissed, no charges pending. And that’s all the information they get as they’re rushed into stripping out of their prison issue clothes and to slip back into the attire they’d arrived here in. Any questions asked are consequently ignored.

They get kicked out to the curb fast enough to make their heads spin, the paperwork it takes done in record speed, which only serves to highlight how ill-willed their treatment had been when they’d first gotten there. Jughead barely even has the time to check that his things are complete, but it doesn’t seem like anything vital is missing, at least, even if his clothes smell of dust and mold and there’s a weird stain on his jacket he’s pretty sure wasn’t there before.

It’s a little jarring, stepping out through the front gate, into a world that’s wide open with both space and possibility, wearing his own clothes, his beanie tucked firmly and securely into place, pulled all the way down to cover his ears. His bag with his laptop in it a familiar, grounding weight against his side. All of the things he’d missed so intensely, so painfully, finally back in his possession and he clutches at the strap across his chest hard enough to make his knuckles turn white. And still, it feels off somehow, like the clothes don’t fit quite right anymore, a little like he’s an impostor trying to steal someone else’s life. He hopes desperately that the feeling will fade with time. Once he’s gotten used to the fact that they just got released and it doesn’t seem quite so much like he’s walking through a dream anymore.

They stand there, in front of the detention center for over an hour before Tall Boy and a couple of other serpents make it to L&L to come pick them up. Tall Boy takes in the state of both Jughead and Sweet Pea and gives them a look, eyebrow raised, but refrains from commenting further. From what Tall Boy and the other Serpents had been able to gather so far, it seems like someone pressured the mayor into dropping the investigation against them, due to ‘lack of incriminating evidence’ or some such thing, though they hadn’t been able to figure out who’d been responsible for that change of heart.

If someone went after Mayor McCoy, that would at least explain why Leopold and Loeb was so eager to get rid of them, Jughead thinks. He takes a moment to wonder, who it was that got things moving in their favor finally, since it apparently wasn’t anyone associated with the Serpents or the Penny and whatever it is that she’s been doing for them – Jughead is still determined to figure out exactly where this puts him with her, once he gets the chance – and his mind automatically jumps to Archie and Betty.

There’s no-one else he can think of, that would care enough about a bunch of teenage gang members from the Southside and Jughead feels a little bad for the way he went off on them, when they came to see him, even though he’s still not convinced that it wasn’t at least a little justified after the stunt they’d pulled on him before that.

He might have to see, if he can’t get himself to reach out to Archie at least, once he’s gotten himself sorted enough to think about things like that. For now, he just wants to go _home_ , so badly he can feel it as an ache in his bones, to sleep in his own bed again, to shower until he doesn’t smell like prison anymore. Bask in all of the comforts that familiarity offers and let them stitch him back together somewhat. So that he can finally convince himself that things are the way they’re supposed to again. Even if he’s not quite sure that they are, that they can be.

Tall Boy and the others rode over on bikes, some of the bikes belonging to the Serpents they’re picking up, enough on the whole for all of them to fit, if they ride back in twos. Jughead’s bike isn’t among the ones there, but Sweet Pea’s is and Sweet Pea doesn’t hesitate to offer to drive him home. It’s not like it’s out of the way for him, since they live in the same trailer park and all, and Jughead agrees easily. Jughead’s helmet _is_ amongst the things the older Serpents thought to bring along and he exchanges his hat for it hurriedly before climbing onto Sweet Pea’s bike behind him.

Riding passenger reminds Jughead a little of when he was younger and his dad used to take him out with his bike sometimes, when he wasn’t too drunk and Jughead’s mom wouldn’t throw a fit and stop him from doing so. It’s nice to just be able to sit back and enjoy the rush of the wind in his face and the blur of the landscape racing past and he wraps his arms around Sweet Pea’s waist tightly. Sweet Pea’s back is broad and solid and it’s kind of nice being this close without the expectation of it leading to something else looming over him and, quietly, he allows himself to enjoy it, even with how complicated things are between the two of them right now. Because Jughead honestly has no idea where this thing that they started is supposed to go now that they’re out and there’s no longer the need to be close to keep them safe.

He should probably take a good long moment to try and figure out where _he_ wants it to go, if he wants it to go anywhere at all and then figure out Sweet Pea’s side of things. Because it’s just as likely that Sweet Pea’ll want to leave this whole thing behind those bars where it started, be done with the idea of Jughead being anything more than a friend, if that. But for Jughead to be able to work any of that out, he’s going to need some time to clear his head, to put some distance between himself and Leopold and Loeb, both physically and psychologically.

Jughead kind of expects Sweet Pea to head straight for Sunnyside trailer park, so he’s a little confused when Sweet Pea takes a different exit, pealing away from their little congregation of motorcycles and leather jackets, and eventually pulls up in front of Pop’s. But the prospect of burgers and milkshakes at Pop’s has Jughead so immediately excited that the thought to object or question Sweet Pea’s reasoning doesn’t even occur to him.

By the time they’re seated across from one another in a booth near the end of the diner, Pop having jutted down their order with a worried glint in his eyes after having taken in the state of them, Jughead is so jittery with anticipation he’s both bouncing his leg up and down under the table and drumming his fingers against the table top in a matching, erratic rhythm.

Sweet Pea fails miserably at hiding the fond little smile that twists up his mouth and softens his eyes when he looks at Jughead and takes in his so very obvious delight at the prospect of getting his hands on some decent food. It makes Jughead’s stomach do that weird flip-floppy thing again and he ducks his head a little to hide the color rising up into his cheeks.

But as soon as Pop sets their plates down in front of them, Jughead digs in, all thought of anything other than the food in front of him forgotten for now. He makes it through two burgers, 2/3 of a strawberry milkshake and one and a half helpings of fries before he slows down enough to make conversation an actual possibility. Sweet Pea just sits there and waits him out, in no particular hurry as he works through his own burger and fries. Though, when Pop comes buy asking whether they’d like desert and Jughead nods enthusiastically, his mouth too full to speak properly, Sweet Pea does look a little worried.

To his excuse, Jughead’s pretty sure he lost a couple pounds while they were on the inside, being forced to eat like a regular person for once and he’s not actually sure whether or not there’s any food back at the trailer that hasn’t gone bad over the course of the last week (aside from some cereal maybe). So this is basically both lunch and dinner (and potentially tomorrow’s breakfast) for him. Also, he hadn’t even realized just _how much_ he’d missed Pop’s until he’d taken that first bite of his burger.

His stomach is kind of used to him eating a lot in one go and then nothing for a while, so he’s not really in any fear of making himself sick. Although he should probably check how much money he’s got on him. The thought hits him hard enough to stop him from eating for long enough to dig his wallet out of his shoulder bag and go through it. The contents, or lack thereof, as always, is kind of depressing, but it should still be enough to cover his meal just so. He’ll have to figure out what to do about grocery shopping tomorrow. There might still be some emergency reserves hidden between the cushions of one of the couches at the trailer, he thinks.

He’s so lost in his his head, that he startles, when Pop comes by and sets a chocolate sundae down in front of him, and almost knocks over the meager leftovers of his milkshake. He apologizes, a little embarrassed about his overreaction, but Pop just gives him a sad little smile and tells him not to worry about it.

The mood is kind of awkward after that, once Pop has left them to themselves again, and Jughead picks up his last fry and drags it through the glob of ketchup left in the corner of his plate distractedly. Ducks his head and glances up at Sweet Pea from under his bangs. It’s a little out of the ordinary, just the two of them here like this. Jughead doesn’t think they’ve ever spent time one-on-one before L&L and now that his immediate hunger is satiated and he can’t distract himself with stuffing food into his face anymore, he feels the tension more sharply.

It’s Sweet Pea, who finally clears his throat and breaks the somewhat strained silence, as Jughead swallows the rest of his fry and moves on to his sundae, taking his time to savor the treat. “You think you’re gonna be OK?”

Jughead looks over at him, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth, caught off guard by the question a little and not entirely sure how to answer. He’d kind of been wondering that himself, to be honest and he figures that only time will tell whether or not he’ll be able to put his old self back together or not. But, now that the concrete walls and iron bars and rows after rows of chain-link fences that make up Leopold and Loeb are behind him and he’s back in a world he knows, in his own clothes with a belly full of his favorites at Pop’s, it seems so much more likely that he’ll eventually succeed.

“I don’t know.” He finally ends up saying, feeling the need to be honest. “But I hope so. Probably. What about you?”

Sweet Pea leans back in his seat and gives him a twisted little half-smile. “Not my first rodeo, remember?” There’s bitterness laced through the words, but also a dry sort of humor, that softens them a little. “We have a rule, you know? With the Serpents. ‘What happens on the inside, stays on the inside’. Nobody gets judged for what they need to do to stay alive. Most of us have been there before.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, Jughead thinks, and he’s not really sure whether to be grateful or angry at the implications. For the older Serpents to have been in prison over the course of their life as a norm, it’s not great, but perhaps that’s part of being a member of a biker gang, an implicit risk. But that it’s the same for the younger member, teenagers, basically children still, that’s kind of fucked up. Especially since the more Jughead learns, the more inclined to believe he is that it’s not actually their fault a lot of the time. He doesn’t really know how to feel about the prospect of everyone pretending like nothing happened at all and just moving on with life, but maybe it’ll make things a little easier and he tries to offer Sweet Pea a small smile in return.

It falls somewhat flat, but he hopes it gets the point across anyway.

“I’m not sure if I _want_ to forget about what you did for me, though.” Jughead murmurs eventually, making sure to meet Sweet Pea’s eyes. There’s a bunch of stuff he’d just as gladly never think of again, even though he suspects his mind won’t grant him that luxury, but Sweet Pea stepping up the way he did and saving his ass, isn’t one of them. “I kind of owe you.”

Sweet Pea actually looks a little startled for a moment, but then his eyes grow intent and his mouth pulls into a lazy smirk. “I’m sure we can find a way for you to make it up to me.” He drawls, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest, his slouch growing more pronounced and the heat that rushes into Jughead’s face at that is so sudden and so intense it makes him feel a little dizzy.

The look on Jughead’s face makes Sweet Pea drop his pose and smile for real and the asshole actually has the gall to laugh at him. “Relax.” Sweet Pea drawls and nudges Jughead’s foot under the table, just a quick tap, but Jughead definitely feels it. “You could go to the movies with me tomorrow night. That would be a start.” Then, his self-assured air dropping away a little and his eyes sliding to the tabletop instead of meeting Jughead’s, Sweet Pea tags on: “’Sides. It’s not like you didn’t save my butt once or twice, either. So we’re basically even.”

Jughead feels somewhat inclined to argue his point, but that gets swallowed up by the realization that Sweet Pea just pretty much straight out asked him on a _date_ and it brings back that weird, fluttery feeling in his stomach with a vengeance. He swallows heavily around a mouthful of chocolate ice cream and, before he has too much time to think about it, his own gaze fixed firmly onto his half-finished sundae, he finds himself saying: “That sounds nice.”

So much for taking some time to clear his head.

It all seems kind of surreal, to be honest. A part of Jughead still feels like he can’t quite trust the fact that he’s actually _out,_ sitting here having burgers at Pop’s with Sweet Pea and he’s half-afraid he’ll wake up any minute now only to realize that this was all a dream and he’s still stuck at L&L, smack in the middle of that all too real nightmare. And then there’s the inescapable thought of Betty again and the intense pang of guilt that accompanies it and he hast to forcibly remind himself that he doesn’t owe her anything.

Not after the way she broke things off with him, regardless of what her reasons might have been. And, while he’d so desperately wanted to believe that with her he’d finally found the one good thing in his life worth holding onto and had been willing to overlook a lot in turn, he should probably admit to himself at least, that their relationship had never been all that perfect to begin with.

Maybe she’d just finally figured out, that she could do so much better than him and gone with the natural consequences of that epiphany. He can’t just turn off his feelings for her like flicking a switch, not after all of that shared history, but there had been plenty of hurdles right from the start and maybe it’s just time to call it quits for good and move on. He should be allowed that much, Jughead thinks. It doesn’t make him a monster for wanting to try.

And Sweet Pea is… Jughead’s not really sure. All he knows is that his stomach feels all weird and fluttery whenever Sweet Pea really looks at him and that his chest pulls tight and his heart goes racing when he recalls the feel of Sweet Pea’s hands on him, his lips tingling with the memory of kissing Sweet Pea. Even with how awful the circumstances had been, and that alone says a lot, Jughead guesses.

Once Jughead’s finished the last of his sundae, Sweet Pea giving a disbelieving shake of his head as Jughead pushes the empty glass away towards the center of the table and puts down his spoon, Pop walks over again to collect their plates. When Jughead tries to pay for his food, though, Pop just shakes his head and gives him a small smile, his eyes filled with quiet sympathy, making Jughead shift in his seat uncomfortably.

“I heard about what happened.” Pop says in his usual, soft-spoken way and shakes his head disapprovingly. “Wasn’t right what they did, putting you kids away without so much as a trial. It’s awful what this town’s come to. But I also heard that your friends went after Mayor McCoy and wouldn’t lay off her until she folded and dropped the case. You tell them, when you see them, that their next meals here are on the house as well.”

“Uhm, thanks, Pop.” Jughead answers lamely, feeling a little unbalanced. “I’ll do that.”

Pop nods and walks off again, straight-backed and dignified. Jughead chances a glance at Sweet Pea and he can see Sweet Pea’s mouth thinned and his brows furrowed, at the implied mention of Archie and Betty Jughead guesses and he can feel the tension seeping into his shoulders, the fear of things going sideways again. To his surprise, though, Sweet Pea just sighs, after a bit, and his expression relaxes again. Jughead’s not sure, if Sweet Pea will ever be persuaded to actually _like_ anyone Northside, but maybe the fact that Archie and Betty’s doing got _all of them_ out and not just Jughead did a little to soften his immediate animosity towards them.

Or maybe, the fact that Jughead just agreed to go out with Sweet Pea helped somewhat, as well.

Before Jughead can come up with anything to say to break the weird silence that has fallen over them again, Sweet Pea moves out of his slouch and taps his hands onto the edge of the table. “Let’s go.” He says and starts to slide out of their booth. “I smell like prison and I could really use a change of clothes.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jughead mumbles, grateful for the distraction and he slides out of his own seat and follows Sweet Pea out of the diner easily. Happy as anything to be outs in the fresh air again.

It feels easy, natural, sliding back into place behind Sweet Pea on his bike, wrapping his arms around Sweet Pea’s waist and leaning in, prepared to hold on tight as Sweet Pea starts the engine and guides the bike off of the parking lot.

~*~*~

Sweet Pea drops Jughead off at his trailer and Jughead’s knees feel a little wobbly as he climbs off the bike and pulls off his helmet so that he can put his beanie back on, Sweet Pea watching him as he does so. A slight smile twisting up one corner of his mouth.

“See you tomorrow at school, Jones.” Sweet Pea says, lifting his eyebrows and dropping them again and on an impulse, acting quickly before he can think himself out of it, Jughead leans in and places a short kiss onto his mouth. There and gone again, accompanied by the feeling of blood rushing into his face and the way Sweet Pea’s smile morphs into a full out grin at that doesn’t exactly help, either.

Without another word Sweet Pea starts up his bike and heads off towards his own trailer, leaving Jughead to stare after him, lips tingling and face burning. It takes a moment for Jughead to get his feet to cooperate, but eventually he manages to turn around and head for his dad’s trailer. The familiarity of home, even if by far not all memories attached to it are positive ones, does a lot to ease his nerves and Jughead drops his bag onto the dining table with a heavy sigh.

The first thing he does is take a long, hot shower and get himself into some fresh clothes. He takes his time to luxuriate in the privacy he’d been missing so desperately, in not having to worry about other people’s eyes on him and the intentions behind their stares as he strips and steps under the hot spray. The memory, still much too fresh, brings back that slithery knot of tension in his stomach, but both the hot water and the soft t-shirt and khakies he slips into after help ease it up a little and he does his best to shake it off and to keep himself busy with other things, even with the tiredness pulling at his limbs and making them feel heavier than they should.

He starts with cleaning out the fridge and getting rid of spoiled food. He never has all that much food at the trailer in the first place, if just for the fact that he can’t really afford more, but there’s still more than he would have thought that needs getting rid of and it keeps him occupied for a while.

He’s in the process of bounding down the front stairs, on his way to take out the trash, when he almost runs headfirst into Archie. Jughead manages to come to a stop just in time to avoid a collision and Archie gives him a wide-eyed look, one hand frozen in the motion of reaching for the handrail of the stairs, on his way up to the trailer’s front door. Jughead can see Archie’s dad’s truck parked a couple feet away, so Archie probably borrowed it to come here. It’s a little strange that Jughead didn’t hear him pull up, he must have really been lost in his head.

“Jug.” Archie says and his eyes go wider still as he takes in the band of bruises around Jughead’s neck, healing but still clearly visible, and the remnants of the black eye that the punch to his cheek had given him. “Shit. What happened?”

Jughead bites back a sigh and pushes past Archie to complete his initial enterprise of dropping the plastic bag he’s carrying into the trash can sitting against the side of the trailer. “Long story.” He forces himself to say without looking at Archie. Then, after he’s walked back up to the front door and Archie hasn’t made a move to follow him, he actually does sigh and throws a glance over his shoulder. “You coming?” At least this spares him the trouble of having to be the one to reach out, Jughead thinks a little numbly.

Archie gives a curt nod and unfreezes himself, but Jughead doesn’t wait for him to reach the top of the stairs, just steps into his trailer and flops down onto one of the couches in the living area. His stomach is pleasantly full, he’s wearing a clean set of his own clothes, the smell of prison soap and disinfectant washed away, and after almost an entire week of constant tension he feels drained and tired enough to sleep for a solid 12 hours easy, in his own bed no less. But here they are anyway.

Archie closes the door behind himself carefully and, instead of sitting down on the couch across form Jughead, he takes a seat at the other end of the one Jughead is currently occupying and angles toward him. Jughead pulls one leg up onto the couch, bent at the knee and foot dangling off of the edge, to better face Archie. His elbow resting on the back of the couch and his head propped up by his palm on his cheek. There’s tension in Archie’s pose, in the way he interlaces his fingers and the stiffness of his shoulders and some of Jughead’s ill will melts away at the sight. Deflating, he decides to take it easy on him a little, even with the unpleasantness of their last two encounters at the front of his mind.

“I heard it was you and Betty, who got the Mayor to back off and let us walk.” He offers and Archie smiles gratefully, if a little self-deprecating.

“Veronica and Kevin helped, too. But yeah.” Archie says, shrugging it off. Jughead has to swallow around the lump that forms in his throat at the mention of their friends. He used to be a part of that, a part of their world, however ill-fitting, and he’d be lying if he said there weren’t moments when he misses it so much it’s painful. But the feeling passes. Here, on the Southside, he’s finally where he actually belongs, where his heritage puts him and no amount of pretending is going to change that.

He was never good at sitting by and watching Archie struggle, though, that much at least still hasn’t changed. So he bites back on another sigh and folds, his eyes fixing on a point above Archie’s left shoulder. “Tell them ‘thanks’ next time you see them.” He says, the ‘thank you’ directed at Archie remaining unspoken, but he still knows that Archie’ll catch it.

And Archie’s pose really does relax somewhat, his shoulders slumping and his hands untangling to rest in his lap more comfortably. “I will.” And, shifting his head back into Jughead’s line of sight, making Jughead meet his eyes so that he’ll see the earnestness in Archie’s expression he tags on: “Look, man. I’m sorry about the stuff I said. Back at L&L and before, too. I was angry and I didn’t mean it like that, but that’s probably a bad excuse.”

Jughead’s chest pulls tight at the mentions, at the reminder, but he takes Archie’s apology for what it’s worth, because he knows Archie and he knows how hard it must have been for him to come forth with it. “I said some pretty shitty stuff, too.” Jughead offers, and yeah, that’s definitely true enough. They’ve always known where to hit to really make it hurt. Comes with being friends for most of their lives, Jughead guesses and it’s not like Archie ever was particularly hard to read to begin with.

At least they’re talking about it, now, not like the last time shit went sideways with them and Archie just ditched him for the entire summer before their junior year and for moths after, without so much as a word of reasoning. But that, too, is history now.

“So, we’re good?” Archie asks, sounding much too hopeful and Jughead is reminded of the fact that Archie hasn’t exactly had it easy these past couple of months either. What with his dad being shot and the killer still on the loose and everything.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Jughead concedes and even manages a weak little smile. Archie latches on to that, returns it with a wide grin of his own, relief painted stark across his expressive features and Jughead wishes he weren’t so fucking tired, wishes he could share a fraction of that enthusiasm for Archie’s sake, but he can’t, not really but Archie doesn’t seem to mind either way.

“Any news from your dad?” Archie asks, quick to change the subject and the question hits Jughead out of no-where. God, he hadn’t even thought about that, perhaps subconsciously avoiding it, but fuck he needs to at least _call_ his dad, let him know that he’s out of Juvy and that he’s OK.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall tells him that the hours during which inmates at Shankshaw are allowed to receive calls are over for today, though. All he knows is that Tall Boy promised to pass on the message that Jughead was in L&L and his dad must have been worried sick this last week. That should have pretty much been the first thing he thought of the moment he got out and Jughead feels kind of horrible about it. He’ll definitely have to go visit on the weekend. First thing Saturday morning or something. Shit.

“I don’t know.” Jughead admits dejectedly, his shoulders slumping. “I haven’t talked to him, yet. But Tall Boy would have let me know if there’d been any new developments while I was away.”

At least that’s what Jughead strongly hopes. The whole thing just kind of makes him feel even more tired than he already does and he lets his eyes slip shut for a moment, a tiny reprieve, but then forces himself to open them again and return his gaze to Archie.

Archie gives him a rueful, sympathetic little half-smile and fiddles with the sleeve of his bright blue and yellow letterman jacket. “ Must have been pretty tough inside, huh?” He says it kind of quiet and off-hand, like it isn’t really all that important to him whether Jughead answers or like the answer won’t hold any real weight for him, but Jughead’s known him long enough to see right through him.

And he can tell easily by how hard Archie tries for casual that this is something Archie’s really been beating himself up over and he wonders, out of no-where, if Archie blames himself for the fact that Jughead went away in the first place. For not having been on time.

Jughead’d checked his phone as soon as he’d been able to plug it in to recharge when he gotten home, the battery having died while it was in holding at the detention center, and he’d seen Archie’s message from the day of the raid. Archie had actually been there to warn him and if Jughead had only checked his phone the moment it had buzzed instead of waiting, he might have actually been able to avoid his stint at L&L. Jughead has no idea how Archie had known about the raid in the first place, but the thought alone that everything he’d gone through during the last week might have been avoidable… It’s a hard and bitter thing to wrap his head around.

Jughead swallows thickly around the lump in his throat, the renewed tightness in his chest and his fingers dig into the side of his face harder, pressing into the bruise on his cheekbone purposefully, the dull flare of pain a counterpoint to the unwanted surge of feeling. As much as Jughead wants to just play it off, to make light of everything and ease Archie’s mind, he can’t. The words just get stuck in his throat as it closes up around the forming syllables. The worry on Archie’s face deepens and he sucks in a breath like he’s preparing to say more, but Jughead cuts him off hurriedly.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” He rushes out, shoulders tensing and his free hand balling into a fist where it rests on his thigh. Gaze slipping away from Archie’s, unable to look him in the eye while the memories of what he’d done, of what’d happened are so clear and sharp and humiliating. “Look, why don’t we re-schedule the catching up for some other time? I’m pretty tired and all I want to do is crawl into my own bed and sleep for a week or something.”

Jughead very deliberately doesn’t look up to see Archie’s face fall.

After a moment of silence, Jughead can hear Archie sigh and then the couch shifts as Archie lifts himself off of it and walks over until he’s standing in front of Jughead. Somewhat reluctantly Jughead lifts his eyes to glance up at him. The expression he finds on Archie’s face surprises him a little, grim with worry and a muted kind of anger.

“Alright.” Archie concedes, his voice a little rough. “But we’re still friends, right? I know I acted kind of shitty, but you can still _talk_ to me, right? If there’s something going on with your new friends, if they got you into some kind of trouble or if they’re, I don’t know –“ Archie gestures vaguely at the bruises on Jughead’s face and neck. “– If they’re hurting you or something, whatever it is, you’re not in this alone. We can figure something out. I’m here for you and so is Betty. She was pretty worried about you, too. You should really reach out to her.”

Heat rushes into Jughead’s face, both at the insinuations against the Serpents Archie’s making and at the mention of Betty. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down a little before he speaks, his anger still sitting much too close to the surface, still so very ready to explode at the slightest spark. “OK, first of all, my _new friends_ were the ones who made sure I stayed as safe as I could while we were inside.” Jughead starts, and it’s even mostly true. Archie doesn’t need to know about Darwin, and that’s not who Archie was talking about anyway.

“This –“ He goes on and pushes himself up off of the couch as he gestures at his face and neck, the need to be level with Archie propelling him to move. “ – Is courtesy of the _Ghoulies,_ and I might not even be standing here talking to you if it hadn’t been for Sweet Pea, by the way. You remember the one of the guys you called a thug when you came by to break things off with me for Betty? That’s him. And the _Ghoulies_ areactually the ones everyone should be fucking worried about, not the Serpents. They’re the ones dealing Jingle-Jangle and they’re who Mayor McCoy should have gone after, if she was looking to stop the flood of drugs coming from the Southside, not us. Also, -”

Jughead turns his back on Archie, so that he won’t be able to see Jughead’s face, and walks over to the dining table where his phone is sitting connected to the charger. He picks it up and unplugs it so that he can stuff it into the back pocket of his jeans. “ – If Betty wants to talk to me she can come over or call. She’s the one, who dumped me and I don’t really feel like running around after her right now.”

“That’s pretty harsh, man.” Archie says, sounding a little taken aback and Jughead rests his palms on the tabletop and squeezes his eyes shut, head hanging and heavy. “I know it wasn’t great the way things went, but she had a good reason, believe me. It’s been really tough for her, too.”

“Like I said.” Jughead shoots back without moving, his voice more throaty than he’d like. “If she wants to talk she’s more than welcome to reach out. I’ll see if I can find the time to squeeze her in.”

Jughead knows he’s being cruel, and it _hurts_ , but while he might be able to forgive Archie, Betty’s a different thing all together and he just doesn’t think he’s got it in him to fold and come crawling back to her. Not after everything. Not with _Sweet Pea_. He just wants to close that chapter of his life and move on so that it can stop hurting and making him so damn angry. Though a quieter part of himself knows that he’ll have to clear the air and get some answers eventually, if he ever wants to be able to do so and once his head is a little clearer and he’s managed to calm down somewhat, that part of him will carry more weight than it does now.

A hand lands on Jughead’s shoulder and he startles so badly, shaking off the touch and whirling around to face the person behind him, that he almost knocks over the chair he was standing next to. Archie looks at him stunned, one hand held mid-air and all Jughead can do is chant a quiet litany of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ in his mind and try to catch his breath and calm his racing heart back down to a reasonable pace. He hadn’t even heard Archie move towards him.

“Dude...” Archie starts but then trails off, his hand dropping back down to his side.

“Sorry.” Jughead breathes and rubs a hand across his face, angry at himself for overreacting like that. “Like I side, I’m just really tired. It’s been a long fucking week.”

“Yeah.” Archie says quietly, that infuriating worry back on his face, and moves to tuck his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket. “I guess I’ll leave you alone, then. Maybe get some sleep. And promise you’ll stay in touch?”

“Yeah.” Jughead offers lamely and then stands and watches as Archie turns, leaves the trailer, throws one more glance back at Jughead before he pulls the front door shut after himself. Jughead doesn’t move until he hears the engine of the truck start and gravel kick up beneath its retreating tires.

Talk about fucking things up, Jughead thinks and drops down into the chair he’d almost knocked over.

~*~*~

To his defense, he really does try to sleep. And it should be easy, with how tired he is, with his own bed calling to him like a siren’s song, the covers a little dusty but soft and carrying a familiar, comforting scent that wraps around him like a cocoon. But as soon as his head hits the pillow he knows he won’t be getting any rest tonight. It’s like the simple act of laying down jump starts his brain and sends it into overdrive, with no heed at all to how drained his body feels.

So, after 30 minutes of tossing from side to side, unable to achieve anything other than getting more worked up, Jughead throws in the towel and heaves himself back up out of bed, waddles to the kitchen in a t-shirt and boxers and set a fresh pot of coffee brewing. Then he powers up his laptop and starts his research.

He sits there until four in the morning, drinking one cup of coffee after another, writing a scathing expose about the institutionalized discrimination and prejudice against the residents of the Southside, furthered and carried out by the mayor, the sheriff’s office and Leopold and Loeb, at the example of the treatment of a group of wrongly imprisoned Southside High students. Jughead knows it’s very probably an exercise in futility, because if Mr. Phillips was going to take the Red and Black away from him before, chances that he suddenly changed his mind after Jughead was arrested for his alleged association with drug dealing, together with a bunch of other Serpents, are pretty much zero.

But he can’t help but do it anyway. He needs to get it out of his system and a part of him still holds onto the stupid hope that after reading the article that proves both his and the Serpents’ innocence in regards to the accusations brought against them might make Mr. Phillips see reason after all. And, since he’s at it anyway and he still has a couple hours until he needs to head out to get to school, Jughead starts in on that article about the Ghoulies and the Jingle-Jangle trade he was going to write before he got locked up.

He manages to finish a first draft, that he hopes will help to further make his point just in time. He still needs to do some more digging to back his suspicions up with a more solid base of evidence, but he thinks it’s a pretty good starting point and nothing he saw since he started looking into the whole thing has even remotely serve to lessen his conviction of the Ghoulies’ responsibility for the illegal goings ons at Southside High.

Jughead slips into a fresh set of clothes, brushes his teeth and packs up his laptop just as the first rays of daylight creep in through the windows of the trailer. He threw out the milk yesterday, but there’s still some cereal left and so he has a bowl of it dry, not the first time, and washes it down with the last of his coffee. By the time he climbs onto his bike, he’s jittery with sleep-deprivation and way too much caffeine, but he manages to get himself to school in one piece anyway, all the while hoping desperately that his efforts won’t prove to have been for naught and trying not to think about everything else he should be worrying.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter done with.
> 
> I feel a little bad because while proof-reading it seemed to me that this chapter isn't entirely up to par with the rest of the fic. I found it a little lacking in places but didn't have the energy to dig in and fix it. If you felt the same way while reading I apologize.
> 
> Things have been a little straining lately and I'm afraid that may have translated itself into my writing a little. I hope to make up for it in future chapters. 
> 
> If you didn't notice any of that and it's all just my tired self being overly critical, please just ignore my ramblings and move on with your day...
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always. You are amazing! <3


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all of you lovely people still sticking with this: I am really sorry this update took me so long. I had a couple of exams to brave and studying kind of ate my life for a bit there. But those are through with for now, so yay.
> 
> Also, please forgive me, if there are more spelling errors in this chapter than usual. I am leaving for the airport in a couple of hours (going to visit a friend in England for a week) and I really wanted to get this posted before I go, so I didn't proof as thoroughly as I normally would. If I missed something you are more than welcome to let me know and I'll fix it!
> 
> And, since I'll be away until next Friday, the next chapter might be a bit longer, as well. But I promise I'll do my best to make it up to you guys once I get back. Thank you for being so patient with me <3
> 
> Have fun reading!

~*~*~

Jughead gets to Southside High with just enough time till first period to allow him to swing by Mr. Philips’ office and so that’s exactly what he does. Once he gets there, though, he’s stopped short by the lines of yellow police tape criss-crossing in front of the door and effectively blocking it. He just stands there staring at it like an idiot, trying to figure out what the Hell is going on, when a familiar figure rounds the corner of the hall and stops short as she spots him.

“Jughead!” Toni walks over to him, a small smile on her lips, subdued in a way that makes her look tired, but the sentiment behind the expression is earnest. It surprises Jughead a little, when she wraps her arms around his middle and hugs him tightly and he hisses a breath in through his teeth at the way it upsets the bruises on his ribs.

“Sorry.” She draws back, pulling a face, an apologetic grimace and Jughead shrugs it off, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his head over his beanie sheepishly.

“It’s fine.” Jughead says and drops his hand. “I was wondering where you were yesterday, when we didn’t see you after we got released.”

“Yeah, I think I got out a little before you guys did and my uncle actually came and picked me up, so...” She shrugs and stuffs her hands into the pockets of her artfully torn up shorts, very deliberately not letting her gaze linger on the bruises around Jughead’s neck. “I heard things got a little tough for you guys. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Jughead forces himself to say, making a conscious effort to relax his pose, and hopes that it’s not too obvious how his fingers are clenching around the strap of his shoulder bag. “I hope it went better for you.”

“Yeah.” Toni gives him an ironic half-smile, one corner of her mouth twisted upwards and pulls one shoulder up, then drops it again. “Wasn’t great, but all things considered it could have been a lot worse. I’m just really glad to be out again. I guess we owe your Northisde friends, huh?”

Jughead huffs out a laugh at that, a little surprised. “Maybe.” He concedes, and then, just to lighten the mood a little, he adds: “Just don’t let Sweet Pea hear you say that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right on that one.” Toni returns his grin easily, but then her expression becomes more serious. “But really, tell them ‘thanks’ when you see ‘em next time.”

“I will.” Jughead clears his throat and changes the subject quickly, before the silence that falls can get too uncomfortable. He nods his head towards the taped-off door to Mr. Philips’ office. “Do you know what’s up with that?”

“You didn’t hear?” Toni blinks at him for a second, but then goes on to elaborate without Jughead needing to prompt her. “Mr. Philips got arrested while we were in. Turns out he was the Sugar Man. Riverdale’s main drug supplier. But he got shot while he was in holding at the Sheriff’s station, so I guess there’s not going to be at trial...”

“What?!” Jughead blurts out, shocked, not exactly sure how to wrap his head around those bits of information.

Toni just shrugs like it’s not that big a deal and even with everything Jughead’s seen here so far, he’s once again left to wonder exactly how bad things at Southside High or on the Southside in general are for her to be so blasé about the whole deal. Jughead’s seen a lot of ugly first hand, but one of his teachers being arrested for being Riverdale’s drug king pin and then _shot_ while at the Sheriff’s station… That’s a little much even for him.

Especially since it’s Mr. Philips they’re talking about. Jughead _never_ would have thought – God, he can’t believe he’d gotten it so wrong. The bitterness seeps right back in, an old friend taking up residence in his gut as he draws the natural conclusion of what that means for him. “So I’m guessing the Red and Black isn’t re-opening any time soon.”

“Not unless one of the other teachers steps up and volunteers to oversee it.” Toni confirms, her eyebrows raised ironically.

“And, let me guess, the chances of that happening are next to zero.” Jughead huffs, a self-deprecating twist to his mouth.

“Sub-zero, pretty much.” Toni confirms and extracts one of her hands from her pockets so that she can pat Jughead’s arm sympathetically. “Sorry. I know the paper meant a lot to you.”

The ringing of the bell that announces the start of first period saves Jughead from having to answer to that. “Shit.” Toni curses and starts to hurry down the hall. She turns around while walking, for a second. “See you at lunch?”

“Sure.” Jughead mumbles, but she’s already out of earshot, her back turned as she sprints towards her history class. Jughead’s got math in first and second period today and he trudges down the hall in the opposite direction dejectedly. His bag feels heavier than it did before, the weight of it pulling him down, and the thought that he’ll never be able to publish either of the articles he wrote eats at him harshly.

What kind of meaning is he supposed to give any of what happened, when he can’t even use it for a greater cause, to try and make people see what’s happening right under their noses, to work towards a much needed change. Although Jughead supposes that most of the residents of the Southside are already perfectly aware of all of the injustices in their lives. It’s the Northside that could use a little eye-opening, he thinks, his mouth pulling into a snarl. And neither of his articles would have had that kind of reach anyway, however crushing that admission is. Nobody on the Northside gives a fuck about a school paper from Southside High.

Jughead’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t even realize he’s at his classroom until he’s almost walked past it. Cursing quietly under his breath he walks a step and a half backwards and then heads inside. Mrs. Norris, their math teacher, pays him no mind at all, even though class has already started. She’s sitting at her desk reading yesterday’s newspaper, a number of pages from their text book written on the board for them to work through in the mean time, Jughead supposes.

Sweet Pea is lounging sideways in his chair by the window, engrossed in an animated conversation with Fangs and two other Serpents who were inside with them, but the room is so loud with chatter already that it hardly makes a difference. And just like that, seeing them there, the fear Jughead’s been trying so hard to keep his mind off of is right there again, pulling his chest tight and making his gums feel weird and tingly.

The fear that Sweet Pea’s words won’t hold true, that things will be just as strained and awkward between him and the other Serpents as they were on the inside, that the way the other Serpents see him has irrevocably changed and that there won’t be anything he can do to fix it. No way to earn back his dignity, no way to prove that he’s worth more than a stupid little fuck toy or a trouble magnet, who can’t handle the shit that breaks loose when he opens his mouth.

Fangs spots Jughead first and gives him a little mock salute in greeting and, following Fang’s gaze, Sweet Pea raises his chin and and gives Jughead a cocky grin. There’s a free seat in front of Sweet Pea’s so Jughead trudges over and takes that one for himself, nodding at the others and doing his best to play it cool, to not let his nerves show, his palms sweaty as he shoves them into the pockets of his Sherpa jacket.

Jughead half expects for the others to pick their conversation back up unperturbed by his presence, to be ignored the way he was in Juvy. But instead, a big goofy grin on his face, Sweet Pea fills him in that they’re in the middle of arguing about who would win in a fight, Batman or Blade.

“What do you think, Jones? I’m sure you’ve got an opinion, nerd like you.” Sweet Pea jabs at him good naturedly, the others snickering along and, in the midst of their easy laughter, Jughead’s tension breaks. He’s taken into the fold, no-one looking at him weird or giving him shit, just expectant faces as they wait for him to make his point. Like nothing happened at all. Like things are as normal as they get around here, just a group of teenagers talking shit and avoiding doing actual school work. And maybe this is just as important for them as it is for him, Jughead thinks, feeling like the world is on its usual axis again after the way they’d felt while they were inside.

A careful grin tugging at his lips, Jughead takes a deep breath and then starts in on a tangent on why, naturally, Batman would kick Blade’s ass six ways to Sunday, Sweet Pea leaning back and giving an approving nod, while half of the others shamelessly voice their outrage. The math problems they’re going through were part of last year’s curriculum at Riverdale High and Jughead is fairly confident he’ll be able get them done in about 20 minutes, when he gets home. So there’s really no harm in slacking off a little, he thinks, for once allowing himself to just sit back and enjoy the simplicity of the moment.

As first period moves on, the discussion getting more and more heated, Jughead feels some of the weight lift off of his shoulders and it’s like breathing is easy for the first time in over a week.

~*~*~

At lunch, Jughead wolfs down his food in record speed and then excuses himself from the table the Serpents are occupying in the school yard, making use of maybe one of the last sunny and reasonably warm days of the year, and trudges off to find a quiet corner where he can make a phone call in peace. He gets through on the first try, which is a bit of a surprise, because the lines are usually pretty crowded this time of day. It’ll be too late to call when he gets home, though, so trying now is his best option.

It takes a while for his dad to get to the phone, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary and Jughead breathes a quiet sigh of relief when his dad picks up the receiver and mumbles a grumpy “Yeah?” into the line.

“Hey, dad.” Jughead says, bright and cheerful, even though that’s the last thing he feels right now and then swallows thickly as he waits for the response.

“Shit, Jug?” His dad’s voice sounds a lot more alert all of a sudden. “Boy, you had me worried sick. Tall Boy told me you and a couple other young ones got put away on some bullshit drug charge. Told me it was the mayor lost her mind and went out on a crusade against the Southside. Tell me you’re alright, kid.”

“I’m fine.” Jughead makes himself say, leaning back against the graffiti-ed brick wall and squinting into the sun a little, soaking up it’s warmth as it seeps across his face. “I would have called yesterday, but it was already too late by the time I got home.” The lie slips out easily and he tells himself that it’s for his dad’s benefit, tries to ease his mind a little with the reasoning.

“You gonna come by tomorrow?” His dad urges, tone of voice making it sound less like a question and more like a statement. “I wanna see for myself. Won’t be able to let it go until I can make sure my son’s OK.”

Jughead’s hand moves up to his throat, his fingertips tracing the line of bruising he knows is there, fading but still very much visible and he chews on his bottom lip in thought. He thinks he actually has a turtleneck sitting somewhere at the bottom of his closet, a Christmas gift from his mom from a couple years back that he never really got around to wearing. If he can hide the choke marks, he’ll be good, he thinks, the shiner he’ll be able to explain without it getting too ugly.

“Yeah.” He finally breathes and he can hear his dad’s exhale through the line.

“Good.” FP says, his voice determined. “We’ll talk then. I wanna know everything.” That actually sounds like a threat and although Jughead is reasonably sure it’s not directed at him it still makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The last thing he needs is for his dad to feel like he needs to get involved in restoring Jughead’s honor or exacting some kind of revenge on Jughead’s behalf. God.

His dad doesn’t even wait for Jughead’s reply, just hangs up on him, confident that he’s said his part and gotten his will. Jughead slumps back against the wall a little more heavily as he puts away his phone. He’s finally starting to come down from the high induced by all of the caffeine he had throughout the course of the night and morning and that is _not_ a good thing.

If he wants to make it through the rest of the day he’s going to have to get his hands on some fresh supply somehow. It’s not like the cafeteria serves coffee, it being a school and all that, but he thinks one of the vending machines in the hall near his English lit class room has some energy drinks. He’s not sure how that got past school administration, but then again, maybe they just really don’t give a shit. It wouldn’t surprise him, honestly.

While he’s not usually a fan of the stuff – the flavor too artificially sweet to be enjoyable – he’s going to have to make due for now, he guesses. With a tired sigh and a glance at his watch Jughead pushes himself away from the wall. If he hurries, he should be able to make it to the vending machine and still get to his next class in time. He plays with the idea of asking Sweet Pea, if he’d like to come along, but feels kind of stupid about it. He’ll be seeing Sweet Pea in class in a couple minutes anyway.

Jughead rounds a corner only to skid to a very abrupt stop when he finds someone deliberately blocking his way, only just so managing to avoid a collision. Startled, Jughead looks up to find the Ghoulie who’d gotten the jump on him and kicked the crap out of him his first day at Southside High staring back at him, face mean and grim with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Ben, Jughead thinks his name was.

The guy’s not alone, either, flanked by three of his buddies, all of them Ghoulies as well and looking equally as unhappy. Jughead feels his heart leap up into his throat as he takes a hurried step back, suddenly feeling very conscious of the fact that he’s not wearing his leathers today. He’d decided to leave them at the trailer in favor of making his talk with Mr. Philips go over more smoothly, it never really got to that.

“Hey, asshole.” Ben presses out and takes a step towards Jughead, following his retreat and effectively crowding him, his friends hard on his heals. “I heard you caused a lot of trouble while you were in L&L.”

Jughead throws a quick glance towards the table the other Serpents were occupying when he left them, but it’s empty now and he swallows thickly. The feeling that creeps up his throat and spreads through his chest is all too familiar, that same panic he’d felt the last time he’d been cornered by a group of Ghoulies and he bites down on his tongue angrily. Straightens his back and squares his shoulders, chin raised to cover how his hands are shaking at his sides, balls them up into tightly curled fists.

This isn’t L&L, it’s a fucking high school, albeit a really shitty one, in the middle of the day. They might be able to get away with beating the shit out of him, but they won’t _hurt_ him the way the others would have if Sweet Pea hadn’t stopped them. That’s what the rational part of Jughead’s brain tries to tell him as his breathing speeds up and the Ghoulies close in to form a tight semi-circle around him, cutting off his escape route.

“Remember the guy you fucking stabbed, hm?” The asshole goes on, shoving a hand against Jughead’s chest and making him stumble back another step. “That was a really good friend of mine, _Serpent prince_. I definitely owe you for that.”

“Yeah, well.” Jughead forces out through gritted teeth, relieved when his voice doesn’t waver. “Then you probably know that Shawn was the one who came after _me_. And that shiv wasn’t mine either. I was just defending myself.”

Jughead doesn’t really expect it to make a difference, but he feels compelled to say it anyway. He throws another hurried glance out to the school yard, but no-one’s paying them any attention and lunch break is nearly over, so there aren’t a lot of people around anymore to begin with. He could try to make a run for it. All he needs is an opening, a distraction of some sort. He swallows thickly around the lump that’s climbing up his throat, tries hard to keep his breathing level and to not let them see that they’re getting to him.

“If you touch me, you’re gonna have a problem with the Serpents.” Jughead presses out through his teeth. He hates resorting to that, hiding behind the emblem of a jacket he’s not even wearing, acting like a coward. Again. But he’s alone and he’s running out of options to deter these assholes. “Do you really wanna risk that?”

To Jughead’s surprise, Ben just scoffs and spits onto the ground between them, one corner of his mouth twisting upwards as he speaks. “From what Shawn tells me about the way things went down inside, you might be overstating your worth there a little. Even with you being FP Jones’ son, it looks a lot like all you are to your fellow gang members is a convenient little fuck toy. Almost more trouble than you’re worth. Or am I wrong? Do you really think they’re going to risk a gang war by coming after us just ‘cause we hurt you? ‘Cause I fucking don’t.”

Jughead can feel his stomach pull tight at the words, an intense sinking feeling he’s become much too familiar with, nausea coiling tightly. Shawn reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls something out of it, then flicks it with his hand and as it snaps open, the steel glinting brightly in the sun, Jughead realizes that it’s a switchblade. He takes another hurried step back only for the Ghoulie and his friends to follow, caging him in, and his breath gets stuck in his lungs for a moment, then rushes out all at once.

Ben’s grin widens, too many teeth showing. “I’m thinking, if I cut up that pretty face of yours, maybe you’ll lose your appeal to them and they won’t care at all, huh? Maybe they’ll just throw you away like the useless garbage that you are?”

Ben motions with his chin and two of the Ghoulies move in, grab Jughead by the shoulders and hold him still. Jughead tries to shake them off, eyes wide and panicky, his heart racing, but they keep their grip easily, like his resistance means nothing at all and Jughead has to fight the wave of despair that’s threatening to overwhelm him, at his own ineptitude proven again so vividly.

The Ghoulie steps close, raises one hand to grip Jughead’s jaw, chipped fingernails digging into Jughead’s skin, and holds him still as he raises the blade up to Jughead’s face. Jughead freezes as Ben draws the flat side of it along his cheek in the mockery of a caress, the tip just inches away from his eye, then down to the side until the blade slips behind his ear. The steel is cold and against his heated skin and Jughead can feel the bite of it as Ben starts to apply pressure.

“How about I start by taking your ear, hm? You’re not gonna miss that much, are you? You can just pull that stupid hat of yours down a little and no-one will even notice.” Ben hisses, close enough that his spittle hits Jughead’s face and, his body going through with the motion before his brain has a chance to catch up with it, Jughead jerks up his leg.

Ben makes a sound like a balloon losing air, when Jughead’s knee connects with his groin and folds in on himself, face contorted with pain and the switchblade clattering to the ground loudly. A line of heat burns along the back of Jughead’s ear and he can feel something wet trickle slowly down the side of his neck, but he’s too high on adrenaline to really pay attention. Making use of the distraction he kicks out, hitting one of the guys holding him still square in the side of the knee and the Ghoulie yelps and lets go of him.

While that one’s hobbled, clutching his leg and off balance, it doesn’t take all that much anymore to twist out of the last one’s grasp. Jughead spins around, ready to make a run for it, when the fourth Ghoulie, the one he’d kind of forgotten about, cuts him off. Cursing internally Jughead tries to duck past him, but the guy is quicker. He swings and hits Jughead right in the face.

The impact is hard enough to knock Jughead off his feat and he crumples to the ground, hands clutching at his nose as a piercing flash of pain spreads outwards to his eyes and his temples, heat rushing wetly across his mouth and chin.

“You worthless piece of shit!” Someone curses and Jughead curls in on himself reflexively, expecting violence, a mirror pose of his last encounter with the Ghoulies and he screws his eyes shut tightly, trying to breathe through the blood in his mouth and the steel band that’s constricting his lungs. Copper floods all of his senses. But the expected impact never comes.

“Hey!” Sweet Pea’s voice booms out, cutting through the commotion like it’s nothing, riled up and out of breath. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Shit, shit! Get back!” Jughead opens his eyes just in time to see the Ghoulies back up and huddle together a couple paces away and then there are hands under his arms, pulling him back onto his feet and once the world has stopped spinning out of turn, he can see that he’s flanked by Sweet Pea and Fangs and the rest of the teen Serpents. All of them looking pissed and battle ready.

Jughead steadies himself, pulls his hands away from his nose and turns around to face the Ghoulies head on, side by side with the others, Sweet Pea and Fangs standing tall at his shoulders. Not in front of him, shielding him, but with him in their midst, amongst the front lines, and Jughead grits his teeth and squares his shoulders, lifts his chin in a quiet challenge as he meets Ben’s eyes, blood dripping down his chin. The asshole has picked up his switchblade, holding it like he means to use it, but his gaze is unsure, flicking back and forth between the Serpents in front of him, very much in superior numbers.

There’s rustling and a number of metallic clicks and Jughead glances to his sides only to see that Fangs and Sweet Pea and a couple of others have drawn switchblades of their own.

“What’s the matter, asshole?” Sweet Pea taunts. “Bit off more than you can chew? Haven’t you fuckers learnt shit? If you come after one of us, you better be prepared to deal with _all_ of us.”

Ben still doesn’t look like he’s ready to back down, squaring his legs and face twisted like he’s about to say something biting, but one of his Ghoulie friends grabs him by the shoulder and hisses at him. “Come on, man. This wasn’t the deal. It ain’t worth it. Lets go!”

“Shit.” The guy curses, heartfelt, throws them another scathing look and then turns on his heals and makes a run for it, his buddies following him in a hurry.

Jughead exhales shakily and sinks into himself until his hands are propped on his knees, head hanging a little so that the blood from his nose falls to the ground instead of dribbling down his neck. He spits onto the ground to clear some of it out of his mouth and then flinches a little, when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder. Glancing up, he see Sweet Pea bending down, trying to get a look at the damage.

“Yeah, you better run, assholes!” Fangs calls out to the retreating Ghoulies, flipping them off in a way that looks pretty heartfelt. Jughead can very much relate to the sentiment. The other Serpents seem to be feeling the same way, if their muttered agreements are anything to go by.

Half of Jughead’s face is throbbing like, well, it just had a very unpleasant encounter with someone’s fist, and he’s got a pretty decent headache going already. The rest of the day is going to be fucking great, he thinks dryly and then makes himself stand upright again, one hand on Sweet Pea’s arm for balance, feeling a bit light-headed.

“Here.” Toni hands Sweet Pea a clean tissue, the look on her face something between pissed off and worried and Sweet Pea takes it with a curt nod of thanks.

Sweet Pea grabs a careful hold of Jughead’s chin with one hand and tilts his head up a little, to get a better look. It makes the flow of the blood redirect, has it seep down the back of his throat instead of across his face and Jughead grimaces at the queasy feeling that settles in his gut as it hits his stomach, but he doesn’t complain or try to twist out of Sweet Pea’s grip. The bleeding will stop quicker, if he keeps his head tilted back.

“Well, shit.” Sweet Pea says, a little exasperated and Jughead hisses air in through his teeth when Sweet Pea presses the tissue against Jughead’s nostrils, effectively stemming any remaining blood flow outwards. “It doesn’t look broken, but, man, you’re gonna have two pretty impressive shiners by tomorrow. You really need to stop getting punched in the face so much.”

Jughead snorts out a laugh and immediately regrets it, wincing at the pain that shoots through his nose. “Yeah, well. Tell that to the guys doing the punching.” He says, sounding weaker than he’d like, but the sarcasm doesn’t get lost in the delivery, so that’s something. Can this fucking day get any worse?, Jughead wonders dejectedly.

“Right.” Sweet Pea shoots back wryly, one eyebrow raised. “Maybe you should ask yourself why it is that people _want_ to punch you so much. You’re fucking lucky Fangs is such a flake. If he hadn’t forgotten his pencil case out here you’d be looking a lot worse right now.”

“Thanks.” Jughead presses out, his voice a little too nasal to really get the level of dryness across appropriately and he bats Sweet Pea’s hand away so that he can take hold of the tissue himself and continue to press it against his nose, head tilted backwards obediently.

“Sure thing, man.” Fangs replies cheerfully. “Any excuse to miss part of class. Although, maybe next time a little less blood on our part and a little more on theirs would be good.”

Jughead pulls a face at him, ready to shoot something back, but Toni cuts him off. “Speaking of class...” She says and raises an eyebrow expectantly, hands on her hips in a way that makes it clear she means business. Fangs just groans, but lets himself be herded back towards the school building, together with the rest of the Serpents.

With a sigh, Jughead turns and makes to follow them, but Sweet Pea steps in his path and grabs his shoulders, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “And where exactly do you think you’re going?” Sweet Pea asks, not looking particularly amused.

“Class?” Jughead tries, but judging by the frown that creeps onto Sweet Pea’s face, Jughead thinks that was probably the wrong answer.

“Yeah, no.” Spinning Jughead around and re-taking his hold on Jughead’s shoulders, Sweet Pea begins to stir him towards a different entrance to the building. “Not looking like you just escaped from the House Of The 1000 Corpses, dude. We’re gonna go get you cleaned up first.”

“That movie’s a horror classic.” Jughead informs Sweet Pea with no small amount of dignity, while he’s letting himself be marched along. “And I really don’t look _that_ bad, thanks.”

“Wait ‘till you’ve seen yourself, before you go making claims like that.” Sweet Pea murmurs and Jughead grumbles under his breath but decides to surrender to his fate. With the way his face and neck feel right now, sticky and gross and all, arguing over this one probably isn’t worth it.

It’ll give him some time to get a handle on his headache, too, before he has to head back and sit through one and a half hours of listening to Mrs. Jenkins ramble on about how Hitler was actually an alien working as an agent for a race of lizard people trying to destroy humanity form wihtin while struggling with the overwhelming urge to launch in on a little rant of his own and set a few details she seems to be misinterpreting straight.

Jughead’s still not entirely sure where exactly Southside High sources its teachers form. Sometimes it feels like they just hung out fliers and then hired whoever was ballsy or stupid enough to brave this place, no credentials needed, thanks. The whole thing reeks badly of unhealthily high levels of desperation.

Sweet Pea steers Jughead towards the nearest bathroom on the first floor. The state of it fits perfectly into the horrible cliché that is this school as a whole. Dirty, chipped tiles everywhere, any and all available surfaces covered with scrawling graffiti and rude expletives (Jughead is both kind of worried and kind of impressed by the creativity behind some of them, to be honest) and toilet stalls with no doors.

Jughead doesn’t fight it when Sweet Pea leads him over to the sill of the big window with frosted glass, though he has to sweep aside some cigarette buds and a wadded up tissue he really doesn't feel comfortable examining too closely before he can sit on it. Then he waits, his head tilted back against the cool glass of the widow, as Sweet Pea gathers up a hand full of paper towels and wets them at one of the sinks.

Jughead tries to take the paper towels from Sweet Pea, once he’s walked over to where Jughead is sitting with his face raised stupidly, but Sweet Pea just bats away his hand and starts to carefully wipe down Jughead’s neck. One big hand back on Jughead’s jaw, to make him tilt his face the way Sweet Pea wants it.

It feels a little weird, being fussed over like this and Jughead can’t help but notice how close this puts them, close enough that Jughead can feel the warmth radiating off of Sweet Pea. And the strange intimacy of Sweet Pea carefully dragging wet paper towels across Jughead’s throat, the pressure weird but not entirely uncomfortable against his Adam’s apple as he swallows, has Jughead’s stomach doing that weird fluttery thing again.

Sweet Pea’s face is screwed up in concentration as he works, his big hands oddly gentle where he’s touching Jughead and Jughead has to fight the sudden wave of heat that floods his face at the memory of how else those hands have touched him and how good that had felt. Sweet Pea shifts his attention up to Jughead’s chin and mouth, giving them the same treatment as his neck and then wraps his fingers around the ones Jughead is using to press the tissue to his nose and pulls it away slowly.

His nostrils feel sticky and weird, but it seems like the bleeding has stopped and Jughead carefully tilts his head back until it’s at a more comfortable angle to see if it will hold. When there’s no re-newed gush of blood, Jughead sighs, relieved, and lets Sweet Pea dab at his upper lip, Sweet Pea’s palm warm where it cradles his chin. Eventually, Sweet Pea gives Jughead’s face one more critical look, deems it as clean as it’ll get at the moment apparently and pulls the soiled paper towels away, the hand holding them dropping to his side.

Without really thinking about it, Jughead lets his eyes slip shut and leans into the palm cradling his chin, a whoosh of air slipping past his lips and across Sweet Pea’s wrist and Jughead can feel Sweet Pea shudder slightly. He’s just so fucking tired and he’s battered and in pain and Sweet Pea’s touch feels comforting and so deceptively easy to fall into.

“Hey.” Sweet Pea’s voice is soft and careful and Jughead can feel the tips of Sweet Pea’s fingers ghosting across his forehead, catching a stray strand of hair and tucking it back beneath his beanie. Jughead shivers at the touch, at the intimacy of the gesture. He opens his eyes slowly to meet Sweet Pea’s worried gaze. “You alright? You don’t have a concussion or some shit, do you?”

“ Nope.” Jughead says cheerfully and stifles a sigh as he straightens up, Sweet Pea’s hand dropping away from his face, the loss of its warmth making Jughead’s stomach drop a little. “No concussion. Just a pretty intense headache and badly in need of  some  caffeine. Blood levels are reaching a  dangerous low, I think.”

“ Don’t have any painkillers on me, sorry.” Sweet Pea says and trudges over to the trash bin to  throw away the bloody paper towels, one eyebrow raised  skeptically. “But there’s a vending machine down the hall that has energy drinks. The  really  cheep kind.”

“ Yeah, I figured.” Jughead pulls a face as he hops down from the window sill, his head protesting insistently at the sudden movement. “But my stomach has a steel lining and I’m used to shitty stuff. Gotta work with what you’ve got, right?”

Jughead tries to move past Sweet Pea towards the exit, the strange mood between them broken and eager to get back to something that feels more normal, safer. But Sweet Pea narrows his eyes at him, his gaze fixed on the side of Jughead’s neck, and stops him again.

“Hey, wait a second.” Sweet Pea reaches out and tilts Jughead’s head to the side so that he can get a better look and Jughead has to fight the shrink away form the scrutiny. “What happened to your ear?”

“Nothing.” Jughead sighs and worms out of Sweet Pea’s grip. “It’s just a scratch.”

Sweet Pea’s eyes narrow dangerously and Jughead pulls a face, ducking his head a little in anticipation of an outburst. It's true, though. The cut behind his ear is hardly more than an annoying itch, scabbed over already by the way it feels, and very much the least of his troubles right now. Even, if he'd very much like to avoid reliving that particular situation any time in the near or distant future. 

“Did those fuckfaces _cut_ you?!” Sweet Pea rushes out, his hands balling into fists at his sides and his posture going stiff with the way he’s trying to contain his anger. “I swear, I’m going to kill those assholes the next time I see their pale, undead asses!”

“It’s really not that bad?” Jughead tries to reason. His head feels like someone’s playing a drum set inside of it and he doesn’t really feel equipped to deal with anything more complicated than dozing off in class at the moment. But, yeah. This feels like an intervention is in order. “Maybe don’t do anything that’s going to get you thrown in jail again for a bit?”

Sweet Pea snorts and some of the tension leaves his body, but he still doesn’t look particularly happy about it. “Right. Still going to kick their asses six ways to Sunday, if they ever try shit like that again. And you should really start wearing your jacket to school, just to make sure they get the fucking message.”

“I will.” Jughead concedes with a sigh. He’d been planning to anyway, now that the school paper’s no longer around to force him to pretend like he’s not part of the Serpents. Thinking about the paper still makes him feel like shit, but at least he won’t have to hide part of who he is anymore. That’s something. “Let’s get out of here. Caffeine, remember?”

This time Sweet Pea lets him pass, then follows Jughead out of the door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leathers. It’s kind of sweet that Sweet Pea still cares so much about his well being, Jughead can’t help but think and he’s sure he’d be a lot more flustered, if he weren’t so God damn tired.

Class may have started, but that doesn’t mean the hallways are empty. There are lots of people still hanging around for various reasons and some of them eyes Jughead curiously. He didn’t take the time to take a look in the mirror, so he’s not sure how bad exactly he looks, but he’s reasonably sure that it can’t exactly be pretty. Oh, well, he thinks dryly, he should’ve really gotten used to it by now with his track record lately.

The energy drinks really are the cheapest brand available, but at least the vending machine’s cooling system’s working for a change so, once they get to class where the other’s saved Sweet Pea and him seats, Jughead alternates between sipping the vile tasting concoction and gingerly holding the can to the bridge of his nose. That actually helps to ease his headache a little and it gets even better after Toni offers him a pair of paracetamols. That way, the rest of the school day becomes almost bearable.

~*~*~

The bell signaling the end of last period has Jughead jerking awake and blinking blearily. Apparently he’d fallen asleep on his crossed arms on his desk somewhere in the middle of Mr. Adams droning on about the hypothetical physics of time travel. And he’d been drooling, too, Jughead notes, his face growing warm as he quickly drags the sleeve of his Sherpa jacket across his desk to get rid of the evidence.

He tiredly gathers up his stuff and then proceeds to follow the stream of students out of the school’s main building. It’s Friday and people are way too excited and chatty for his liking, but he braves the crowd until he can branch off and head to where his motorcycles is parked alongside those of the other Serpents. Jughead’s not really looking forward to the ride home. Normally he really enjoys his bike (or, technically, his dad’s bike), but he can feel his headache coming back and his his face feels raw and tender and the vibrations from the engine aren’t likely to help either of those things much.

When he gets to the parking lot, he can see Sweet Pea waiting by Jughead’s bike, leaning against it casually, helmet dangling from the fingers of one hand as he watches it swing back and forth. Sweet Pea looks up as soon as he notices Jughead approaching, a crooked grin on his face, ripe with intent and Jughead swallows and fidgets a little under his gaze.

“So.” Sweet Pea starts, stopping his helmet’s back and forth motion and easily crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. “How’s your head? You still up for later tonight or do you wanna take a rain check?”

Oh, God. With all of the shit that went down today, Jughead’d almost forgotten about the fact that he’s supposed to be going _on a date_ with Sweet Pea later. Or maybe that had just been his subconscious trying to keep him from dying of nerves. The very vivid reminder, though, has his nervousness kicking in full force and he surreptitiously wipes his suddenly clammy hands on his jeans.

Maybe it would actually be a good idea to postpone this thing, with how tired and achy he’s feeling right now, with the way his stomach is doing flip flops just at the thought. A convenient out he could take without even really having to feel bad about it. But the way Sweet Pea is looking at him, all smug and expectant banishes that thought again quickly enough.

“No, uhm, I’m good.” Jughead murmurs, ever so eloquent and tries not to fidget under Sweet Pea’s gaze. What is he, a 13 year old girl? Not to be sexist or anything…

The grin Sweet Pea gives him is totally worth it, though, bright and radiant and happy. “Cool. I’ll pick you up at eight.” Sweet Pea says and pushes off of Jughead’s bike to let him get on it. “See you then.”

Jughead can’t help but grin back at him, Sweet Pea’s smile infectious, and he berates himself for feeling so fucking fluttery. Sweet Pea sucked his dick, for God’s sake. The idea of going on a date with him should not make Jughead feel this fucking awkward. He fumbles a little until he gets his beanie off and his helmet on and Sweet Pea just stands there and watches him struggle, the asshole, looking amused as anything.

When Jughead kicks out the stand of his bike and starts the engine, Sweet Pea steps back and gives him a curt little wave, before Jughead backs out of his spot and takes off. He very deliberately doesn’t turn his head to look back at Sweet Pea, to see if he’s still standing there watching Jughead drive off. The cool wind in his face actually feels kind of good, and he does his best to enjoy it and blend everything else out as he makes his way back home.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My careful estimate is that there will be about one or two more chapters before we're done with this monstrous baby :) 
> 
> On that note, if there's anything you'd like to see me write in the future you're very welcome to leave an ask at my [Tumblr](https://yukichouji.tumblr.com/) <3  
> I can't promise when or if I'll fill your prompt (it has to be something I can connect with or it won't be good, if I try to write it), but if you're OK with that, just go ahead. Don't be shy :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, here's the promised chapter, finally! It's almost double the length of a regular chapter and I was thinking about splitting it up, but then I just though 'nah'. So this is my way of apologizing for the long wait twice in a row, I suppose. 
> 
> The chapter contains, amongst a bunch of other things, a fill to a prompt I got on [tumblr](https://yukichouji.tumblr.com/) , asking for Jughead dreaming about Juvy and Sweet Pea having to wake him.
> 
> I'm gonna keep this short and just say that I hope you enjoy! <3

~*~*~

Once he gets home, Jughead realizes that he should have gone grocery shopping after school today, but he’s too tired now to get back on his bike and head out again, so he’ll have to make do until tomorrow. All he’s got left is some of the cereal he had for breakfast this morning, no milk, and not a lot of it either. If he’s lucky, he can get enough out of it for another bowl for tomorrow morning.

So it looks like he’ll be skipping dinner tonight, Jughead thinks and has to swallow down a sigh. Great. Maybe he can get something at the movies later to tide him over until tomorrow. He drops his bag onto one of the folding chairs at the dining table, hangs his jacket on the coat rack by the door and heads over to the fridge. There’s still some ice in the small freezing compartment, thank God, and he wraps it up in an old, threadbare dishtowel and hauls that over to the couch where he drops onto the cushions heavily.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest and gingerly lowers the ice onto the bridge of his nose. At first it stings and the pressure worsens the throbbing ache that spreads out across his cheekbones and into his temples, but after a bit the cold seeps in and begins to numb the tender, swollen tissue of his nose and there’s finally some relief. Jughead sags deeper into the worn cushions and closes his eyes to properly appreciate the feeling.

If he’s not careful, he thinks he might be able to fall asleep like this, as tired and wrung out as he is after pulling an all-nighter to write his articles and the clusterfuck of the day that followed. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, though, Jughead thinks a little blearily. He’s going to need to shower and throw on some new clothes before Sweet Pea picks him up later at the very least, make an effort to look (and smell) decent. iIf he’s really going to go through with this, he intends to do it right. But he’s still got a couple of hours until then and it won’t do either of them any good, if he’s ready to fall asleep on his feet when Sweet Pea gets here.

So he carefully shifts his position until he’s lying on the couch length wise, head propped up on one armrest, feet on the other and his arms dropping onto his stomach. The towel holding the ice stays in place on its own and, slowly, he can feel the swelling start to go down, actually able to carefully breathe through his nose again. It doesn’t take much for him to slip off into sleep. One moment he’s there, the next he’s gone, barely able to finish the thought of ‘just for half an hour or so’.

~*~*~

He’s floating in darkness. At first it’s warm and soft and comfortable, but after a while, he can feel himself begin to sink, like moving through water, towards the bottom of a deep, deep lake and the darkness around him grows thicker and colder. A trickle of fear creeps into his stomach and when he tries to fight the sinking, he realizes that his limps are stuck. He can’t move at all, as though he’s encased in some kind of vice and the fear intensifies, his pulse kicking up, heart racing as he struggles harder but to no avail.

Then the darkness surrounding him comes alive, begins to move and it’s no longer a formless mass holding him trapped, but hands clutching at him, at his skin, his hair. Unwanted touches he can’t twist away from no matter how frantically he tries and it’s like the air he’s breathing has turned to ice in his lungs and his throat closes up as his stomach twists tight with an overwhelming wave of nausea.

He wants it to stop so badly, but he can’t get away and the feeling of helplessness that washes over him is horrible and visceral and there’s salt and bitterness on his tongue, voices floating through the darkness, laughing at him, mocking him. Fingers push past his lips and into his mouth, slide back until he chokes on them and then even further, into his throat, fingernails scraping.

Jughead jerks awake to the distinct feeling of suffocating and he rolls to the side, the towel holding the half-melted ice slipping from his face and landing on the floor with a wet splat as he coughs and gasps for breath. His chest heaving and his heart racing and it takes him a moment to understand that it was just a dream, that he’s home and safe and there’s no-one else here with him, no-one who would hurt him. With shaky hands he pushes himself into a sitting position and gropes blindly for his phone on the coffee table in the darkness that has taken over the trailer while he was asleep.

Once his clumsy fingers close around it, he clicks on the display, the light too bright for his sleep-weary eyes and he has to blink a couple of times before he can read the time. Quarter till seven. Great. He definitely slept a lot longer than he’d intended to. Cursing under his breath, Jughead scrambles off of the couch and over to the wall so that he can flick the light switch on. The overhead light is a sharp stab of pain in his eyes, but he gets used to it after a bit.

As soon as the trailer is bright and well-lit again, the darkness and the shadows hiding in it banished for good, the last traces of fear slowly begin to fade, his breathing and his heartbeat easing into a more normal rhythm. That dream was fucked up as Hell, Jughead thinks and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to chase away the feeling that’s still pulling his chest uncomfortably tight. But that’s all it was, a dream, nothing that can actually harm him, he quietly tells himself.

Jughead sighs and scrunches up his face in a frown, angry at himself for getting caught up in something so stupid. Whatever happened at Leopold and Loeb it’s in the past and it’s time to get over it. Dwelling on that kind of stuff will only get him wallowing in self-pity, and he doesn’t ever want to feel the way he did in there again, wants to just wash it off and pretend like it never happened, if he’s not going to be able to use his experiences to make an actual change.

Jughead morosely trudges over to the bathroom, where he flicks on the light and braves a careful look in the mirror for the first time since his little run in with Ben and his posse today. He pulls a face at his own reflection, cautiously regarding the damage. Sweet Pea was right about the shiners. There’s a big, blotchy, bluish-purple bruise pooling across the bridge of his nose and running outward underneath his eyes towards his temples and partially across his eyelids.

Great. That’s going to make visiting his dad tomorrow even more fun… But whatever, Jughead thinks with a sigh, the corners of his mouth drooping downward, it’ll fade with time, just like all those other bruises he’s obtained over the previous course of his life. He should really be used to it by now.

He doesn’t really have the time to dwell on it too much anyway. Sweet Pea’s going to be here soon to pick him up and he still needs to shower and throw on a fresh set of clothes. With the current state of his face ‘looking presentable’ is pretty much impossible, but he can at least make the impression that he tried.

So he shakes himself and starts to strip off his blood-stained shirt, tosses his clothes into the laundry bin and steps into the shower. He turns the water temperature up as far as it will go, which isn’t all that high thanks to the trailer’s shitty water heater, but it’s enough to work out some of the kinks that have built up in his neck from sleeping on the couch and he scrubs himself down until his skin is flushed and the last phantom trace of unwanted hands on it has finally faded.

~*~*~

Jughead doesn’t really have the time to let his hair air-dry like he normally would, so he puts in the extra effort and blow-dries it before he puts on his beanie again, pulling it over his ears securely. It took him a little while to decide what to wear and the longer he spent obsessing over it the more stupid he ended up feeling. Because Sweet Pea’s, like, the second person he’s ever been on an actual date with and he has no real idea what the Hell he’s doing or what Sweet Pea’s even expecting.

So he just ends up wearing what he’d be wearing on a regular day anyhow. A pair of skinny jeans, a checkered shirt over a plain t-shirt plus his serpents jacket. Which just makes all the fuss seem even more ridiculous.

His nose feels tender and achy and the throbbing in his head is back so he chucks down the sole paracetamol he finds in the drawer of his dad’s nightstand and hopes that it’ll be enough to get him through the evening. Jughead still feels tired and drained, but luckily for him, his nervousness is definitely stronger at the moment so he’s stuck with a weird combination of fatigue and jitteryness.

He opts for pacing around the trailer, seriously questioning his life choices and slowly but surely working himself up until he’s about ready to call Sweet Pea and tell him he’s not going to make it after all. But then there’s a knock on the front door and that plan goes flying right out the window. Forcing himself to stop acting like a total asshole, Jughead hurries over to get the door.

Sweet Pea greets him cool as anything, leaning back against the railing of the front steps with is arms leisurely crossed in front of his chest, the leather jacket pulled tight across his wide shoulders and a self-assured smirk painted onto his full lips. A smirk that grows more pronounced as his eyes wander up and down Jughead’s frame deliberately, taking him in and Jughead can feel warmth rush into his cheeks at the look on Sweet Pea’s face.

“You good to go?” Sweet Pea asks and Jughead has to clear his throat before he can answer. Sweet Pea looks the same as he always does, only not. Boots, dark jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket, his hair styled the way it usually is. But there’s still something about him that makes it seem like he put careful consideration into the way he put himself together and Jughead gets a a little whiff of what he thinks has to be aftershave. It’s a brand he’s not familiar with, but it suits Sweet Pea and Jughead thinks he kind of likes it.

“Yeah, just a second.” Jughead rushes out and darts back into the trailer to gather up his phone and his wallet, then grabs his keys from the table by the door, gives the inside of the trailer one last look to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything crucial and pulls the door closed behind himself. Just barely remembers to lock it before he turns towards Sweet Pea expectantly, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

There’s a spark in Sweet Pea’s dark eyes when he speaks, something mischievous that has Jughead’s stomach feel fluttery and strange and his hands a little unsteady. “Grab your helmet. I’m driving.” Sweet Pea says and turns around to head down the stairs, like to him there’s no question at all that Jughead will do as he’s asked.

Jughead chews at the inside of his cheek, trying to chase away the strange tingling sensation in his gums as he follows Sweet Pea and makes a beeline towards his bike, where his helmet is dangling from one of the handle bars. Sweet Pea seems so sure, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and what he wants and it’s a little intimidating, but it’s also kind of re-assuring because that means that at least _one of them_ has got this covered.

It’s not exactly rocket science, Jughead tells himself, impatient with himself as he pulls off his beanie and puts on the helmet, a familiar set of motions by now. He needs to stop worrying and just try to enjoy this. Which would be easy enough, if he were a regular person with a regular set of social skills, but of course, he’s himself and nothing like this ever comes easy to him.

Sweet Pea raises an eyebrow at him and Jughead swallows down a sigh before he climbs onto Sweet Pea’s bike behind him, wrapping his arms around Sweet Pea’s broad waist and pressing close to his back. The pose is reminiscent of the day before and Jughead tightens his grip a little when the engine of Sweet Pea’s bike rumbles to life beneath them and tries to take comfort in the warmth radiating off of Sweet Pea, tries to let it sooth his nerves a little.

He can do this, Jughead tells himself as Sweet Pea pulls out of Sunnyside Trailer Park and turns left onto the road that leads into town. The night air around them is cool and Jughead does his best to just hang on and enjoy the ride.

~*~*~

It’s a Friday night and the Bijou is bustling with activity. Mostly teens, happy that the school week is over and they get to enjoy a slightly longer curfew, but some grownups strewn in for good measure, as well. Inside, everything is lights and swirling colors at the snack booth, high walls decked out in red and huge, pompous movie posters, Jughead knows.

Jughead loves the vintage aesthetic of the place, the fluffy, comfortable seats and the heavy red satin curtains framing the huge screens in the hand-full of projection rooms. The ever present smell of popcorn, hot dogs and soda. The countless birthdays spent with Archie, watching old horror movies in double features and staying up way past their bedtimes, an exception Archie’s dad would make for them once a year. And his previous birthday, spent with Betty instead of Archie, that had ended in a party he hadn’t wanted and a lot of hurt feelings on both sides.

Aside from his birthdays, though, which were usually the only times he could afford to do something special and mostly only because Archie’s dad or later Archie himself would invite him, he hadn’t been at the Bijou very often. The tickets had been too expensive for his family and there was no good way of sneaking in a pair of kid’s like his parents had done at the drive-in, where they’d spent far more time as a result.

So it feels a little strange being here with Sweet Pea now, but it’s also nice. Special. Something he’ll definitely remember. Not that going out with Sweet Pea isn’t memorable enough in its own right, Jughead thinks sheepishly and stuffs his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket.

To Jughead’s not so quiet delight there’s a Romero zombie special tonight. A double feature of Night Of The Living Dead and Dawn Of The Dead. The 1968 and ‘78 original versions, thank you very much. _Not_ the re-makes. Sweet Pea just gives him a lopsided grin and patiently lets Jughead ramble on in his excitement and insists on paying for both of their tickets. Though Jughead only relents to that after Sweet Pea promises that he’ll let Jughead pay for the snacks in turn.

Jughead knows that Sweet Pea is at least as low on finances as Jughead himself and Jughead refuses to bleed him just because Sweet Pea was the one, who had the balls to ask Jughead out and not the other way ‘round.

They’re attracting quite a bit of attention, Jughead can’t help but notice once they step inside after having gotten their tickets, most of it not exactly of the positive kind either, the looks they’re getting ranging form dubious to outright hostile. It shouldn’t come as that big of a surprise, Jughead muses a bit surely, with the picture the two of them make in their leather jackets with the gang emblems on the backs and the state of Jughead’s face. Sweet Pea’s too, though the cuts and bruises he sustained in Juvy are faded and almost healed now, shadows only noticeable if you look closely enough. The Bijou doesn’t exactly attract a lot of Southsiders, for the same reasons that keep Jughead away most of the time (i.e. financial ones), so people just aren’t used to it.

Maybe they should have tried a little harder to not be as conspicuous, to not stick out like a set of sore thumbs as they should have guessed they would, Jughead catches himself thinking, but then he just gets angry at himself for letting those assholes get to him in the first place. Sweet Pea and him have just as much right to be here as the rest of these people and he makes a conscious effort to hold his chin a little higher and to meet their stares head-on until they catch themselves and drop their gazes, shamefaced. He’s sure as Hell not going to let that stupid Northside attitude ruin this for him.

And it’s like the leathers he’s wearing are making him feel bolder, like they’re an armor of sorts that lets him stand taller than he normally would. He’s a part of something that means something and it’s his heritage, always has been even if he’s just now come to accept it. Anyone who’s got a problem with that can just go ahead and fuck off, thanks.

They end up getting popcorn (salted, not sweet, because obviously that’s the only acceptable choice, and he’s suitably pleased when Sweet Pea agrees with him right off the bat, unlike Archie, who spends at least ten minutes arguing about it every time before he can make up his mind) and two sodas and it actually does take a good chunk out of Jughead’s grocery money, but it’s totally worth it. No regrets whatsoever.

They get seats near the middle row, far enough away from the screen to not have to crane their necks uncomfortably in order to be able to see all of it, but still close enough to have a good view, and just on time for the commercials. Jughead wisely uses that extra bit of time before the film starts to elaborate on why Romero’s movies were such a success during their time, on how the idea of zombie’s had been something completely new and absolutely terrifying back then and how it revolutionized the horror movie genre. Jughead can’t help it. He rambles, when he gets excited or nervous, it’s kind of like his default mode of defense.

It’s so surreal, being here with Sweet Pea, getting to share this with him and Jughead feels so jittery with all of it that he’s kind of scared he’ll knock over his soda or their popcorn, if he’s not careful, and just end up making a huge mess out of everything. And Sweet Pea is being really nice about it, too. He just seems quietly amused about the fact that Jughead can’t seem to get himself to shut up for longer than it takes to breathe in between sentences and Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever seen Sweet Pea this at ease, this relaxed or happy around _him_.

With his friends, sure, but not with Jughead. It’s such a stark contrast to the way Sweet Pea used to react to Jughead’s presence, how he always seemed to have his guard up, his customary scowl firmly in place whenever Jughead got close, and it makes Jughead feel a little light-headed. Being the focus of that easy amusement now. It seems filled with potential, dangerous maybe even, in a way that has Jughead’s hands feel a little clammy and his mouth dryer than it should, his stomach a fluttery mess of nerves.

He just needs to take a deep breath and try and _relax_ , jeez, once the opening credits to the movie start rolling across the screen and he can no longer get away with talking his head off without risking pissing the entire cinema off in the process. Jughead does his best to simply sit back and enjoy the experience, the movie, Sweet Pea’s presence, that certain sense of glamour that’s reserved for special occasions only, and to very deliberately _not_ flinch whenever their hands accidentally reach for the popcorn at the same time or their knees brush when Jughead shifts in his seat. Or to focus too much on how unreasonably flushed and antsy all of that makes him feel.

And still, Jughead can’t quite keep himself from giving the occasional commentary during the movie, pointing out an interesting fact here, going on a short tangent about how they set that particular scene up or what groundbreaking work the make-up artist did with those intestines right there. Sweet Pea puts up with all of it, a small half-smile pulling at his lips as he alternates between looking at the screen and at Jughead.

Jughead gets a little worried that he’s overdone it and finally managed to graduate from being mildly entertaining to totally boring, when Sweet Pea makes a show out of yawning and stretching a little halfway through the movie. That notion gets quickly dispelled, though, when Sweet Pea’s right arm comes to rest on the back of Jughead’s seat instead of back at Sweet Pea’s side, after, and Jughead can feel his face heat up once he’s realized what Sweet Pea’s doing.

It’s an age-old move, but somehow, Sweet Pea manages to make it look smooth none the less. A small smile tugging at his lips, Jughead decides to show a little bravery of his own and tips his head back gently until it’s resting against Sweet Pea’s arm. Sweet Pea takes that as a cue to slip his arm down from the back of Jughead’s seat until it comes to rest on Jughead’s shoulders instead, his movements a little more jerky now, like maybe he’s kind of nervous about it, too. Which is kind of baffling considering the fact that he’s had Jughead’s dick in his mouth and oh, God that’s not the best thing to think about right now.

But Jughead gets it, is what he’s trying to say. This is different than what happened while they were in Juvy. Back there, they didn’t really have a choice, there was no way to say ‘no’ for either of them (and, yes, that’s fucked up as Hell), but everything that’s happening _now_ is happening because both of them want it to. And that entails the possibility of either of them changing their mind, deciding that this isn’t for them after all and making a run for it. This means actually risking getting hurt and rejected and sometimes choosing to make yourself that vulnerable can be ten times more scary than facing off a bunch of Ghoulies armed with switchblades, Jughead thinks.

But the thing is, Jughead _does_ want this and as long as Sweet Pea is in, he is too. He turns his head to the side a little and finds Sweet Pea watching him, not the screen, and it’s hard to see the look on his face clearly in the dark of the theater, but the twist of Sweet Pea’s mouth still pulls him in. Sweet Pea’s grin widens and he moves to meet Jughead halfway. The kiss is soft and sweet, and Jughead melts into it, just for a moment forgetting that his face feels like someone took a meat tenderizer to it and that the dull throb of his headache won’t subside or how fucking tired he is. For a short moment, Sweet Pea’s lips on his, full and soft and gentle, are all there is.

Jughead pulls away again, before things can get more heated, because he doesn’t dare go there here, doesn’t entirely trust his body to not react all too embarrassingly – he can already feel his pulse begin to quicken dangerously. Instead, he twists around until he can rest the back of his head against Sweet Pea’s shoulder, lean into him as he returns his gaze to the big screen ahead, where some guy is currently being noisily devoured by a hoard of undead. Sweet Pea’s arm around his shoulders tightens, pulls him in a little closer and Jughead sighs contentedly as he sinks deeper into his seat, lets Sweet Pea support more of his weight.

It’s warm and comfortable and the movie is great, but he’s seen it at least a dozen times already and he can feel his eyelids grow heavier, a soft tingling running through every part of him that’s touching Sweet Pea and he draws his tongue across his lips absentmindedly. This is actually really nice, Jughead quietly thinks to himself and he tries to stay awake, he really does, but the warmth and the comfort are lulling him in, are slowly siphoning his nervousness, the restless energy that’s been keeping him alert and going away and he can feel himself slipping.

Before he knows it, the heavy weight of his tiredness wins out and the world fades out of focus bit by bit until it just blurs out completely.

~*~*~

Jughead jerks awake to the eerie tune and unintelligible radio chatter that accompany the closing credits as they roll across the big screen up ahead. Just in time to see the words ‘The End’, white on a black background, take over the screen in huge letters. Ah, fuck, Jughead thinks blurrily and lifts up his hands to rub some of the sleep from his eyes, managing to upset the bruising around his nose in the process. He feels almost worse than he did before he nodded off, and on top of that he now also feels like a total asshole, too.

From what he last remembers, he can’t have slept through _that_ much of the movie, but still. Jughead groans, heartfelt, and Sweet Pea’s hand lands on his back, patting lightly.

“You OK?” Sweet Pea asks dryly and Jughead has to stifle another groan before he turns slightly to face Sweet Pea, an embarrassed grimace pulling at his features.

“God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to nod off on you like that. Why didn’t you wake me?” Jughead asks as the lights slowly begin to grow brighter again and the people around them start gathering up their stuff and getting ready to leave the theater, their chatter rising in the background.

“As tired as you looked, I was kind of scared you’d turn into one of those Zombies from the movie and try to tear my guts out or something, if I tried.” Sweet Pea shoots back, a lopsided twist to his mouth and an amused gleam in his dark eyes and yeah. Now would be a pretty good time for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, Jughead thinks a little panicky with how embarrassed he feels.

Instead, Jughead opts to shove at Sweet Pea’s shoulder lightly and frown at him. “Very funny.”

“Oh, mind the wet spot.” Sweet Pea says, outright grinning at him now as he dodges Jughead’s hand. “I think you might have drooled on my shirt a little.”

Aaand he’s officially dead, Jughead thinks, mortified, his face flaming as he tries to come up with something to retort to that. Sweet Pea actually has the gall to laugh at him and for a second Jughead is honestly tempted to punch him in the face or something. You know, gently, but still.

Apparently, Sweet Pea finally decides to take pity on him and stops laughing in order to drop a big hand onto Jughead’s beanie and push it around a little, effectively mussing up the hair underneath. “Hey!” Jughead complains and reaches up to try and exercise some damage control.

“It’s fine, man.” Sweet Pea lets him know as his hand drops away form Jughead’s head to start balling up the empty popcorn bag. “It’s been a pretty touch week or so. Don’t worry about it. The movie was actually kind of good, too. You know, after you stopped talking over all of the dialog and all that.”

“Yeah, well.” Jughead grumbles, feeling thoroughly ruffled and scowling a little. “You could have just shut me up, you know?”

“Oh, really?” Sweet Pea’s grin turns wicked as he leans a little closer, his voice low, and Jughead can feel the breath catch in his throat on his next, rushed exhale. “And how would you have liked me to do that?”

Jughead swallows thickly and bolts up out of his seat, almost dripping over his own feet and just so avoiding knocking over the sorry remains of his soda in the process, a panicky little chorus of ‘not here, not here, not here, think of something harmless’ running through his head. “I think the cleaning crew is about to kick us out of the projection room.” Jughead stammers hurriedly and turns towards the exit, away from Sweet Pea, to cover up the way his face feels all hot and weird.

He can hear Sweet Pea follow him, but doesn’t turn around to see the look on his face. Jughead would bet good money on the fact that he’s wearing a huge grin right now, the asshole. Way to make things awkward, he thinks and desperately tries to resist the urge to face palm, because that would be kind of painful given the current state of his nose.

Outside the night is chilly and the cool air on his skin helps sooth Jughead’s nerves a little, to calm him down somewhat and to ease the throbbing that’s radiating outwards from the bridge of his nose. Sweet Pea catches up with him at the ticket booth, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and grin muted down to a softer, but still definitely mischievous smile.

“Ready to head home?” Sweet Pea asks and Jughead just nods and gives a quiet ‘Yeah’. He’s very much ready to get out of here.

~*~*~

The ride back to the trailer park is actually kind of nice. The night sky is surprisingly clear and all Jughead has to do is tilt his head up a little to be greeted with the view of an ocean of stars fanning out all across the horizon, the moon itself a small sliver in their midst. Combined with the cool air to clear his head and Sweet Pea’s warm back to hold onto, it’s a pretty decent thing, Jughead thinks, Gulliermo del Toro levels of cinematic almost, and he leans back and lets himself enjoy it for as long as it lasts as the engine of Sweet Pea’s bike rumbles through the night.

Jughead climbs off of the bike a little reluctantly once Sweet Pea has come to a stop in front of his dad’s trailer and Jughead pulls the helmet off of his head to quickly replace it with his beanie. Sweet Pea climbs off after him and loosens the straps on his own helmet while Jughead stows his in its customary place, dangling from one of the handle bars of his dad’s bike.

Sweet Pea’s hair is a little mussed from his helmet, but he runs a hand through it to settle it back into place quickly. Even so, the look kind of suits him, Jughead thinks, his mind wandering into somewhat dangerous territory as he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like, if he could run his own hands through Sweet Pea’s hair, if he was the reason it got all spiky and ruffled.

Jughead swallows around the fluttery feeling in his throat as Sweet Pea walks up to him, his usual, confident swagger firmly in place. “That was really nice.” Jughead blurts out before Sweet Pea’s even fully reached him, the words plopping up in his head and out of his mouth faster than his brain can follow and oh, God, he sounds like a total idiot. But that doesn’t change the fact that he actually means it.

Sweet Pea’s cocky grin only serves to make Jughead feel more self-conscious, more aware of himself and the weird feeling that’s rushing through his blood and making his head seem kind of fuzzy. But, underneath that spiel, Jughead thinks Sweet Pea actually looks kind of honestly happy and that’s enough to sooth him a little.

“Yeah.” Sweet Pea says, the look on his face softening somewhat. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

And yes, definitely, Jughead thinks, but, thankfully, before he can blurt out anything else overly enthusiastic and embarrass himself further, Sweet Pea reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls something out of it. His hand comes up between them, his fingers uncurling until Jughead can see something dark and longish resting on his palm, the glint of steel soft in the low light.

Sweet Pea’s expression grows more serious when he speaks next. “Thought you could use this. It’s one of my old ones. Might be a good idea to carry, you know, in case some shit like today happens again. Just to tide you over until the rest of us can get there.”

A little confused, Jughead reaches out and takes the proffered item from Sweet Pea, holds it up to his face so that he can see it better. It’s a handle, long and thin, mostly black but with some steel lining around the sides and a little steel cross at the top like a hand guard. There’s something like a button on one side of the handle and when Jughead presses down on it with his thumb, a thin blade of the same length as the handle shoots out of the top of it.

It’s a switchblade, clearly worn, like something that’s been used for a long while, but well kept, the steel of the blade shiny and unmarred. He can feel his eyes widen a little as he cautiously cradles the thing in his palm. A fucking switchblade. Jughead can feel a shudder run down his back as he carefully tries to figure out a way to get the blade to retract again.

Sweet Pea sees him struggle and reaches out to take the knife from him. Jughead is more than glad to hand it over. “Here. All you need to do is press down on the release and find something to push the blade back in with.” Sweet Pea says and proceeds to do so, holds the tip of the blade against the side of Jughead’s trailer and then pushes until the blade is fully sheathed again. Then he holds it up so that Jughead can see the side of the handle and the little slide bar there. Sweet Pea touches it with his thumb and pushes it downwards along the handle. “This is the safety. If you’re carrying it around in your pocket you’re really gonna want to make sure it’s on.”

Jughead takes the knife back gingerly when Sweet Pea hands it over again. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about the whole thing. Skeptical definitely, at least a little apprehensive. Sweet Pea must see that reflected on his face, because his expression grows more serious and he reaches out to close Jughead’s fingers around the handle, making sure he’s holding it more securely.

“Look, I get it.” Sweet Pea says, holding Jughead’s gaze. “It’s scary. But you’re a Serpent and you need to know how to defend yourself. Shit doesn’t always go over smoothly and, no offense, but you’re kind of a trouble magnet. I can teach you how to use it, if that makes you feel better. You gotta be able to take care of yourself, you know, at least a little.”

“Yeah. Maybe...” Jughead concedes with a sigh, his fingers tightening around the switchblade for a second, before he lets it slip into one of the pockets of his leather jacket. There’s an uneasy sort of worry sitting in his gut at the thought of it. He’s not sure he really _wants_ to know how to use the thing. There’s too much potential for something awful there, the kinds of things Jughead’s never wanted to be the cause of, but in a way, Sweet Pea does have a point and Jughead can’t deny that it’s kind of heartwarming that he’s trying to look out for Jughead like that, the way Sweet Pea understands best.

It’s the gesture that counts, Jughead thinks, and that does make him feel a little better about it. “Thanks.” He says softly and offers Sweet Pea a hesitant little smile.

The look on Sweet Pea’s face grows more intent, heavier and he moves in until Jughead’s backed up against the wall of the trailer, the rhythm of his heartbeat kicking up a notch at the proximity, and then Sweet Pea leans in and kisses him again. Sweet Pea’s hands come up to cradle Jughead’s jaw, his thumbs rubbing along the shape of his cheekbones, just beneath the bruising there and Jughead leans into him, a shaky breath rushing out through his nose.

The kiss starts out soft and sweet, but it turns heated quickly enough and Jughead can feel his body arching away form the trailer’s wall to get closer to Sweet Pea’s, his hands coming up to hold onto Sweet Pea’s shoulders in a futile attempt to try and steady himself. Sweet Pea’s lips sliding against his make his skin light up and his knees kind of weak and he’d feel stupid for it, if he weren’t so preoccupied.

Sweet Pea pulls in a breath through his nose and steps in closer, crowding Jughead, pressing their upper bodies close and Jughead wraps his arms around Sweet Pea’s shoulders to keep him there, his lungs a strange presence in his chest as he tries to pull in enough air to stop his head from swimming. This is dangerous, in how good it feels, Jughead thinks vaguely.

Sweet Pea is big, tall and wide in a way that makes Jughead feel kind of breakable, and there’s not a doubt in Jughead’s mind that Sweet Pea could overpower him and not even break out a sweat. Sweet Pea’s thumb moves absently down to Jughead’s neck to trace along the fading line of bruises there and that sends a nervous little flutter through Jughead’s stomach, something he wasn’t expecting, and he tries to push it away, to not think about it, because Sweet Pea _isn’t_ hurting him. He’s being so careful with Jughead, there’s no logical reason to be afraid of him, not after everything.

Jughead must give himself away somehow, though, his body going a little rigid against Sweet Pea’s, the way he reciprocates losing a bit of of its enthusiasm, because Sweet Pea breaks the kiss and pulls away from him, giving him space to catch his breath. The look on Sweet Pea’s face shutters a little and Jughead immediately feels bad for it, angry at himself and his stupid, irrational reaction.

There’s no trace of blame in Sweet Pea’s gaze, though, as he takes another step back, his hands coming down to disappear into the pockets of his jacket. “I should probably head home.” He says, his voice carefully without inflection, easy, like it’s no big deal at all. “It’s getting kind of late and, don’t get me wrong, but you look like you could really use some sleep.”

Sweet Pea’s lips are pink and they glisten in the low light, his pupils slightly blown, and there’s a dusting of color high on his cheekbones and anyone looking at him would be able to tell that they’d just been making out. It’s a good look on him, Jughead decides, his own lower lip caught between his teeth and he pushes away from the wall determinedly.

“Or you could stay.” He says, his chin raised defiantly and making sure to meet Sweet Pea’s gaze, doing his best to not let show how vulnerable it makes him feel to say that out loud, how much will-power it’s taking him to go through with it. “If you want.”

The shuttered look falls away and that same, lazy grin from before pulls Sweet Pea’s mouth up at one corner, his eyes going soft as he takes Jughead in, traces his posture, his face. “You sure about that?” Sweet Pea asks, playful about it, but in a way that lets Jughead know he means what he’s saying regardless. “Because you don’t _have_ to offer up anything. It’s fine, if you don’t want to.”

“I know.” Jughead blurts out, kind of desperate to get through this before he loses his nerve, never mind that his face is probably red as a fucking fire engine from the way that it feels. Yeah, he’s tired and he’s hurting, but he’s as sure about this as he’ll ever be. “But I do. I want you to stay.”

Sweet Pea’s eyes go a little hooded and his grin grows wider as he nods in the direction of the stairs to the front door of Jughead’s trailer. “Lead the way, then.” Sweet Pea says and oh, God, Jughead feels like a fish out of water, his legs kind of weak and his chest a beehive and he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s totally got this.

He swallows around the dryness in his mouth and turns to climb the stairs, Sweet Pea following after slowly as Jughead fumbles awkwardly in his pocket for his keys. He almost drops them in his attempt to unlock the door, frustrated with himself and his awkwardness, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief, when he finally opens the door and steps inside. Jughead turns on the light, drops his keys onto the dining table and shrugs out of his jacket, drapes it across the backrest of one of the folding chairs, before he turns around again to face Sweet Pea.

Sweet Pea has closed the door behind himself, making the trailer feel inexplicably smaller for it, the air weirdly charged, and he’s standing there as his eyes wander around the place, taking it in. The first time Jughead had Archie or Betty here, he’d felt self-conscious and kind of embarrassed about it, had been afraid of what they’d think, because he knew so well how they lived and how different this was from that. But it’s different with Sweet Pea, because Sweet Pea knows exactly what it’s like, and all Jughead sees on his face is a mild sort of curiosity, no trace of judgment whatsoever.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jughead asks, his voice a little too rushed, just to break the weird, expectant silence that has settled between them. “I have water or coffee or – I don’t know.. I think that’s it.”

“I’m good.” Sweet Pea shoots back, clearly amused at Jughead’s fumbling, but patient about it.

“You can take off your jacket, if you want.” Jughead tries, because Sweet Pea is still just standing there and it’s driving Jughead a little crazy, that complete lack of action on Sweet Pea’s part, like he’s just waiting Jughead out.

“Sure.” Sweet Pea shrugs and pulls off his jacket, a crooked half-smile tugging at his mouth and Jughead plops into one of the chairs and starts unlacing his boots and pulling them off, just to occupy himself with something other than standing there and watching Sweet Pea. He can hear Sweet Pea kick off his shoes and when Jughead’s done with his own and he looks up, Sweet Pea’s standing there, closer than before, socked feet and bare arms in his t-shirt and jeans.

“So, what now?” Sweet Pea asks, low and definitely teasing, and there’s a challenge in there somewhere Jughead thinks as he gets up out of his seat. They’re almost chest to chest like this, so close that Jughead can practically feel the heat radiating off of Sweet Pea’s body.

Jughead takes a deep breath to steel himself, darts out his tongue to wet his lips, Sweet Pea’s eyes catching on the motion and growing darker with it, before Jughead reaches up and slowly pulls his beanie off of his head. He places it onto the table top carefully, ignoring the anxious flutter in his belly as he takes that last half step forward to fully close the gap between himself and Sweet Pea, their chest brushing together with nothing but two thin layers of cloth separating skin from skin.

Jughead has to rise up onto his toes a little as he leans in to kiss Sweet Pea, his hands coming up to Sweet Pea’s shoulders for balance and an unsteady breath ghosting out across Sweet Pea’s lips before he covers them with his own. Sweet Pea’s hands land on Jughead’s hips, wide and warm and steadying, holding him close and Jughead enjoys the heady, fluttery rush of heat as Sweet Pea leans in to kiss Jughead back.

Sweet Pea darts out his tongue to drag it across Jughead’s bottom lip and Jughead lets his mouth fall open lightly to meet it with his. Hesitant at first, but Sweet Pea takes control easily, darts his tongue into Jughead’s mouth and slides it across Jughead’s own, hot and wet, coaxing Jughead to move with him and something hot and slithery breaks loose low in his gut. Jughead shudders at the feeling and his eyes slip closed of their own volition as he tries to move closer to Sweet Pea still, their thighs brushing against each other, blood rushing south as his lower belly brushes against the slight bulge in the front of Sweet Pea’s jeans.

Because that’s Sweet Pea getting hard for him, Jughead’s brain supplies helpfully and a little wildly, and Sweet Pea moans softly into the kiss as his fingers slide beneath the hem of Jughead’s t-shirt and brush teasingly across the skin of Jughead’s lower back, his thumbs finding the slight jut of Jughead’s hip bones. Jughead wants to hear Sweet Pea moan again, because fuck that’s hot, and he moves his hands up Sweet Pea’s neck until he can slip his fingers into Sweet Pea’s hair, a little stiff with styling gel but not enough to stop him, and cants his hips forward to rub up against Sweet Pea’s growing erection.

Sweet Pea makes a sound low in his throat and then his hands slide down to grasp at Jughead’s ass and Jughead makes a startled noise, decidedly too high-pitched to not be embarrassing, when he suddenly loses the ground underneath his feet and his back hits the wall in a jumbled rush. He hurriedly wraps his legs around Sweet Pea’s hips and his arms around Sweet Pea’s shoulders, clinging to him for balance and, oh God, Sweet Pea just swept him off of his feet like it was nothing.

Any capacity to think coherently that Jughead may have had left just evaporates, because Sweet Pea’s kissing him like it’s about to go out of fashion and like this their hips are pressed together tightly and he can feel the hard line of Sweet Pea’s dick brush up against his own growing erection through the confines of their jeans with every shift. His racing heartbeat is loud in his own ears and he’s panting against Sweet Pea’s lips and if they don’t move this somewhere else soon, things might get a little embarrassing for him.

Sweet Pea breaks away only to leave a wet trail of kisses along Jughead’s cheek, down to the hinge of his jaw and the soft patch of skin just beneath Jughead’s ear, where he feels strangely vulnerable. Jughead has to fight the urge to pull up his shoulder, the ticklish sensation making his stomach do a weird little twist and flip and he gasps out loud when Sweet Pea latches on and starts to suck a bruise into the skin.

Sweet Pea’s fingers are digging into Jughead’s ass, the backs of his thighs and Sweet Pea is wide and solid and hot where he’s pressing Jughead against the wall and Jughead licks his lips a little desperately, chasing Sweet Pea’s taste, salted popcorn and soda. “Bed.” Jughead breathes, but his words get lost as Sweet Pea slowly kisses his way down his neck, one hand sliding up to slip beneath Jughead’s t-shirt and spread out across his side. Jughead screws his eyes shut, clears his throat and lets his head thud back against the wall, the short burst of pain enough to help clear his head a little, just enough to try again, more firmly. “ _Bed_.”

Sweet Pea huffs a laugh against the side of Jughead’s neck, the sensation making Jughead shudder, and then raises his head to meet Jughead’s gaze. His pupils are blown wide, making his eyes even darker than they normally are and he looks so hot with his kiss swollen mouth and his flushed face and messed up hair and Jughead almost doesn’t catch his response. “Where?” Sweet Pea pants and presses a wet kiss to Jughead’s cheek.

Jughead wrinkles his nose and loosens one of his hands from their death grip on Sweet Pea’s shoulders just long enough to gesture in the general direction of the bedroom, towards the hall. “Whoa!” Jughead slaps his hand back onto Sweet Pea’s shoulder and clings tightly, when Sweet Pea shifts his grip, one arm wedging beneath Jughead’s ass and the other wrapping around his back, and then steps away from the wall, pulling Jughead with him.

Sweet Pea makes his way down the short stretch of hallway like that, Jughead hoisted up against him and Jughead tries to reach for the light switch as they pass it but doesn’t manage and then his world is tilting dangerously again as Sweet Pea deposits him onto the mattress of the bed. Jughead bounces a little as he lands, but Sweet Pea is careful enough about it to not upset the bed frame too much. And Sweet Pea is right there with him, crawling onto the bed to cage Jughead in, one elbow pressed into the covers on either side of Jughead’s head and his knees in between Jughead’s thighs and the soft light that spills in through the bedroom windows is just enough for Jughead to be able to see what he’s doing.

Jughead kind of expects Sweet Pea to move right back in, to pick up where they left off, but Sweet Pea doesn’t, takes a moment to just look at Jughead instead, something unreadable in his eyes as he scans Jughead’s face in the gloom, something soft and almost reverent about it. Jughead can feel his gut twist up at the look, and he swallows heavily around the sudden lump in his throat. Sweet Pea lifts up one of his hands so that he can run the tips of his fingers across Jughead’s forehead, catches the strands of hair that have settled there and brushes them back carefully.

Jughead can’t help the way his chest pulls tight all of a sudden, uneasy with the attention, the intensity of it, not quite sure what to do with it, and he licks his lips nervously. “I do anything you don’t like, no matter what, you tell me, alright?” Sweet Pea whispers into the space between them and Jughead suddenly finds it a little hard to breathe, memories itchy and insistent just at the edge of his mind, threatening to rush in and ruin this for him. He pushes back against them as hard as he can and nods his head to make sure that Sweet Pea knows Jughead heard him, his heart pounding harshly against his ribs, before he grabs the collar of Sweet Pea’s t-shirt and pulls him back in for another kiss.

Sweet Pea sinks down onto him, his weight pressing Jughead into the mattress firmly and Jughead strains against him just to get closer as their panted breaths mingle between them, Sweet Pea’s tongue hot in his mouth. Jughead wants to feel more of Sweet Pea kind of desperately and he lets his hands slide down Sweet Pea’s back until he can get a hold of the hem of Sweet Pea’s t-shirt and pull. Sweet Pea stifles a groan against Jughead’s lips and then moves away so that he can help Jughead pull the t-shirt over Sweet Pea’s head and off.

Sweet Pea is all wide plains of well defined muscle, ropes of barely contained strength just beneath his skin, dusky in the low light, an underlying potential for violence in the way he moves, the way he holds himself and, breathless and a little awed, Jughead can’t help but want to touch. So he does, drops the t-shirt to the side carelessly, raises his hands and runs them up Sweet Pea’s big arms, across his shoulders, then down over his collar bone, his well-defined pecks, the hard stretch of his stomach, digging his fingers in as he moves, just to feel the way Sweet Pea’s muscles shift underneath them.

Sweet Pea makes a soft sound, an exhale of breath, shuddering when Jughead’s thumb brushes one of his dark and pebbled nipples, and then reaches out to pull at Jughead’s t-shirt, hands a little rough in his hurry. Jughead reluctantly moves his hands away from Sweet Pea’s chest and lifts himself up so that Sweet Pea can free him of the piece of clothing, making sure that Jughead’s nose doesn’t catch on its neckline. Jughead drops back to the mattress as soon as the garment is gone, the covers a little rough against his bare back.

Sweet Pea sucks in a hurried breath, then bends down to plant a kiss against Jughead’s collarbone, teeth grazing the skin just so and Jughead moans softly, his head tilted back to press into the covers. Sweet Pea’s hands move to the button and zipper of Jughead’s jeans and jerk them open. Jughead’s breath catches in his throat a little, when Sweet Pea pulls his jeans down his legs, the material rough against his skin. The jeans are narrow around his ankles and his socks get caught up in them when Sweet Pea pulls them off, but that’s not really a problem. It just saves him some work.

And then Jughead’s lying there in nothing but his boxers, his hard dick tenting the checkered material so very obviously, a wet spot formed at the tip and God it feels so good not to be trapped in his jeans anymore. But at the same time, it makes him feel really self-conscious, with Sweet Pea still in his pants, looking at him with dark eyes, intent and kind of hungry, Jughead as good as naked and it makes an uneasy flutter flare up in his gut again, the urge to reach out and cover himself suddenly strong.

Jughead clenches his teeth and reaches for Sweet Pea instead, hands a little shaky as he fumbles with Sweet Pea’s belt buckle, eager to level the playing field. He can do this, Jughead keeps telling himself, in the hopes that that unpleasant feeling in his chest will subside. There’s nothing to be afraid of here.

It takes him a little longer, than it should, hands clumsy in the semi-dark of the bedroom, but Sweet Pea just waits him out patiently and, eventually, Jughead wins his struggle with Sweet Pea’s pants and manages to pull them down his hips. Sweet Pea’s wearing a black pair of boxer briefs, the outline of his dick stark and obvious underneath and it looks like the size of it matches the rest of him pretty well, big and thick and imposing and it’s kind of hard to _not_ feel intimidated.

Sweet Pea scoots off of the bed backwards so that he can pull of his jeans completely, his socks kicked off easily in the process. Then he’s back, crawling across the mattress to re-take his place in between Jughead’s spread thighs and Jughead reaches out to grasp at Sweet Pea’s shoulders as he lets himself sink back onto the covers, because he feels like he could really use something to hold onto. His hands are a little clammy and he really hopes Sweet Pea doesn’t notice, he desperately doesn’t want to ruin this.

Leaning down to press a wet kiss to Jughead’s mouth, Sweet Pea grinds their hips together at the same time, the hot line of their dicks only separated by two thin layers of cloth and Jughead moans at the rush of heat that pools low in his belly, distracted enough that he almost doesn’t catch Sweet Pea’s words. “Where’s your lube?” Sweet Pea breathes against the side of Jughead’s mouth, punctuating the question with another lazy roll of his hips. Jughead’s thighs press in against Sweet Pea’s sides, one hand coming down on Sweet Pea’s ass to clutch at it, his own hips canting upwards, and it takes him embarrassingly long to make sense of the question, too caught up in the feeling of Sweet Pea moving against him.

“Oh.” Jughead blurts out dumbly, as soon as his brain catches up with him and he goes still beneath Sweet Pea, his heartbeat kicking up another notch. “Uhm – I – bedside table, top drawer.” Jughead manages and Sweet Pea lifts himself up onto one hand and leans over to pull open the drawer Jughead’s indicating and rummage around in it. It takes him a moment to locate what he’s looking for in the gloom, but eventually, he drops back onto his elbow above Jughead, holding up the bottle with a grin.

“Are you –.” Jughead tries, but has to stop to clear his throat, mouth a little too dry and the rush of blood loud in his ears. “Are you going to fuck me?”

It makes sense for Sweet Pea to want to, Jughead thinks in a jumble, because he didn’t while they were in Juvy, maybe because he was being considerate, but there’s not really anything stopping him now and, before all that, Jughead’d never even entertained the possibility. It sounds kind of scary, especially with how big Sweet Pea is, Jughead can’t imagine it _not_ hurting, and he doesn’t even know where to start, but at the same time there’s this soft little flare of curiosity tickling at the back of his mind. Just at the edge of the whirlwind of other thoughts that are making him feel a little lightheaded.

The grin drops away from Sweet Pea’s face to be replaced by a more serious expression. The effect is undermined a little by how turned on Sweet Pea looks with the blush on his face, with his pupils blown wide and his mussed hair and panting breaths, but Jughead gets the sentiment none the less. “That’s not the only thing lube’s good for, you know.” Sweet Pea tells him softly and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, like he’s trying to calm Jughead down a little. “And, like I said, we don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

The words, the earnestness behind them, serve to soothe Jughead’s nerves somewhat, but now that the thought is there, he’s having trouble discarding it. There’s a weird kind of pull to the idea, a strange sort of fascination. “What’s it like?” Jughead asks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips and Sweet Pea leans down to kiss Jughead again before he answers, quick and hard, like he just can’t help himself.

“Having someone fuck you?” Sweet Pea murmurs, dragging his gaze away from Jughead’s mouth and up to his eyes with what looks like some effort, once he’s pulled out of the kiss, and Jughead nods his head a little. Sweet Pea thinks about it for a moment, before he answers. “I don’t know, it hurts, if you do it wrong. So it’s important to make sure you’re prepped before you go for it, and sometimes it can hurt a little even then, if you don’t relax enough. And it feels kind of weird at first? But it can also feel really, really good. Intimate. And hot.” Sweet Pea breathes those last few words against Jughead’s lips, low and silky and Jughead can’t fight the shudder that chases through him.

“Doyouwannatry?” Jughead rushes out before he has a chance to think about it, before the twist of unease in his gut can win the upper hand. The look that takes over Sweet Pea’s face, the heat in his eyes, is so intense it’s almost a little scary, but at the same time, there’s something really tender in the way he runs the tips of his fingers across Jughead’s temple and cards them into Jughead’s hair.

Sweet Pea leans in close, until his breath ghosts hotly across the shell of Jughead’s ear, the hand previously in Jughead’s hair moving along his neck, across his chest, his ribs, the stretch of his stomach and further, until he’s cupping Jughead through his boxers. Jughead gasps, his mouth falling open as he tilts his hips into Sweet Pea’s touch, chasing after the pressure. “We could try to work towards it.” Sweet Pea whispers into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “Slowly, see how you like it. It’s not a race. It doesn’t really matter how far we get, as long as you enjoy yourself.”

“Yeah. OK.” Jughead forces himself to say, in between struggling to get enough air into his lungs and the anxious knot in his stomach loosens a little, dulled down by the flood of heat that Sweet Pea’s hand on him is sending rushing through his bloodstream. Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s grin pressed against the side of his neck and he can’t help but reach for Sweet Pea with clumsy fingers, cradle Sweet Pea’s face in his hands and pull him in for another kiss, heated and kind of desperate.

Sweet Pea uses that distraction to hook his thumbs into the waistband of Jughead’s boxers and gently lift it over Jughead’s erection, the last barrier between him and the world effectively gone, then pulls Jughead’s boxers down his legs and off. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Sweet Pea manages without breaking the kiss once. Then there’s more rustling and wriggling and when Jughead comes up for air and looks down between the tow of them, Sweet Pea’s briefs are gone as well.

And yeah, Jughead was definitely right in his previous assessment of Sweet Pea’s size. Jughead is perfectly average in that department, thanks, nothing to frown at, but seeing himself next to Sweet Pea is almost enough to give a guy complexes. At the same time, though, it’s kind of really, really hot. Sweet Pea’s dick curves up towards his belly, long and thick and the mushroom shaped head glistening with precome in the barely there light that seeps into the trailer and, before he can think about it too much, Jughead reaches out a hand and wraps his fingers around the length of it.

It’s hot and hard in Jughead’s grip, the skin silky smooth to the touch and Jughead’s thumb doesn’t quite meet the tip of his forefinger around the width of it. Sweet Pea’s gaze follows Jughead’s hand and he groans at the sight, his dick twitching and filling up further as Jughead gives it a careful stroke. This is the first time he’s had his hands on another guys dick, but, Jughead thinks dazedly, it’s really not so bad. He could get used to this, to the exited flutter of knowing that he’s the one making Sweet Pea screw his eyes shut and his mouth go slack as he thrusts his hips into Jughead’s grip. That Jughead’s the reason Sweet Pea loses track of what he was doing just to surge back in and kiss the breath right out of Jughead’s lungs.

It’s a little too dry, though, to be entirely pleasurable, Jughead thinks vaguely, skin catching on skin, and he can hear Sweet Pea grope around for the lube he’d dropped onto the covers next to Jughead’s shoulder. Breathing a little unevenly, Sweet Pea pulls away and circles Jughead’s wrist with his fingers, tugs at it until Jughead lets Sweet Pea pull his hand up and away from his dick. Sweet Pea flicks open the cap of the bottle and places a kiss onto the upturned palm of Jughead’s hand before squeezing some of the slick onto it. It’s cold and sticky, but the feeling of that, at least, Jughead is familiar with.

He tries to reach down between them again, but Sweet Pea keeps his grip on Jughead’s wrist, holds him in place while Sweet Pea drops the bottle to the side. Then Sweet Pea slides the palm of his free hand across Jughead’s, gathering up some of the lube, holds Jughead’s gaze as he makes sure that both of their hands are coated, interlacing their fingers in the process and Jughead swallows around the feeling, his breath racing along with his pulse.

Once Sweet Pea is satisfied, he shifts his weight onto one elbow and they both reach down between them together, their hands wrapping around one another at the same time. Jughead sucks in a breath through his teeth at the feel of Sweet Pea’s slicked up hand on his dick, big and warm and his grip firm as he starts to pump Jughead and it’s all Jughead can do to remember that he’s supposed to be doing the same for Sweet Pea, to not loosen his grip or lose his rhythm.

Sweet Pea starts to bite a trail down the side of Jughead’s neck, stopping every now and again to suck a bruise into the skin and Jughead should probably be complaining about that, but it feels too fucking good and there’s a spark that shoots up his spine every time Sweet Pea twists his wrist just so on the upstroke that makes it really hard to think at all. Jughead’s hips snap up to meet Sweet Pea’s strokes and Jughead tries to match the rhythm of his hand on Sweet Pea’s dick with what Sweet Pea’s doing to him, tries to keep up and it’s so hot every time Sweet Pea’s breathing hitches against Jughead’s neck, every time he makes a helpless little sound in the back of his throat like this is really doing it for him.

The heat between them keeps building, just like the pressure low in Jughead’s belly, sweat slicking their movements further, the insistent rush of blood in his ears getting louder and he can’t stifle the frustrated whine that bubbles up his throat, when Sweet Pea stops stroking him. He’s so fucking close he can almost taste it. But Sweet Pea just slides his hand further down, cups Jughead’s balls and gives them a little tug before moving on, his fingers pressing down on the soft skin of Jughead’s taint and Jughead gasps out an ‘ah’, startled at the little shock of pleasure that bursts in his gut.

Sweet Pea uses his free hand to tilt Jughead’s chin back, make Jughead bare his throat for him and Jughead lets himself be manipulated, too distracted to object. Sweet Pea’s mouth closes hotly over Jughead’s Adam's apple, his tongue darting out to drag across the skin, at the same time as Sweet Pea’s middle finger finds the puckered ring of muscle of Jughead’s ass and slips inside. It goes in slick and easy and Sweet Pea doesn’t stop until Jughead can feel Sweet Pea’s palm pressed up against his skin. Jughead clenches down around the intrusion and it feels so weird, the slight burn of it, that one finger already feeling so big Jughead can’t really imagine how anything the size of Sweet Pea’s dick is ever supposed to fit and he can almost feel himself panic a little at the thought, but then Sweet Pea crooks his finger and stars explode in front of Jughead’s closed eyelids.

Jughead’s hips jerk off of the mattress, his voice loud to his own ears as he moans and oh, God, yeah, he definitely remembers that. Sweet Pea starts to fuck his finger in an out of Jughead, sets up a smooth rhythm, relentlessly aiming for Jughead’s prostate on every stroke, intense burst of pleasure sparking through him and Jughead can feel the sweat stinging at the corners of his eyes, his free hand clutching helplessly at Sweet Pea’s shoulder, desperate for something to hold onto. Sweet Pea’s not even touching his dick anymore, but Jughead can feel himself getting closer and it’s kind of maddening, because there’s not enough friction on his dick for him to _actually_ get there so the pressure just keeps on building.

Jughead has to move his hand away from where he’s stroking Sweet Pea and he slaps his lube-sticky palm against Sweet Pea’s hip to dig his fingers into Sweet Pea’s side instead, because he can’t muster the coordination necessary to keep going anymore and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea doesn’t complain, though, just keeps steadily fucking into Jughead and when Jughead makes himself open his eyes he finds Sweet Pea gazing down at him, the look on his face heated and intent and almost awed and it makes Jughead want to squirm, his throat going a little tight.

“Fuck, you’re hot.” Sweet Pea pants and all Jughead can do in return is moan out a shaky ‘ah’, when Sweet Pea uses that moment to line up a second finger beside the first and work them in together. It’s definitely not as easy a fit as before and Jughead hisses a little at the sting of the stretch as Sweet Pea pushes deeper, the slide made easy by the lube, his perception narrowing down to the feeling of it.

It feels like so much and Jughead can hardly keep up with his breathing, but at the same time there’s a part of him that wants more and Jughead’s hips bear down almost of their own volition to try and get Sweet Pea’s fingers to go deeper, his legs spreading wider to give Sweet Pea more room to move. It hurts, but not in a bad way, just teetering on the edge of too intense and it amplifies the pleasure by contrasting it, the two sensations mixing together until Jughead can’t tell them apart anymore.

Sweet Pea groans quietly, sounding strained. “You’re so tight.” His words are breathless as they gust across Jughead’s lips and then Jughead’s being kissed again, wet and kind of sloppy with the urgency of it, Sweet Pea’s tongue fucking into Jughead’s mouth at the same sped up rhythm as his fingers. Sweet Pea hits Jughead’s prostate once, twice more, buried inside of Jughead up to his last knuckles and Jughead’s so fucking close that’s all it takes to finally send him over the edge.

His vision goes fuzzy and his mouth falls open on a silent shout, his face pulling tight and making the bruise on the bridge of his nose throb as he comes, ropes of sticky white shooting out across his stomach. Jughead involuntarily clenches down around Sweet Pea’s fingers, still buried so fucking deep, his insides twitching, and that’s definitely a little too much, every nerve ending lit up like a Christmas tree.

Jughead grasps blindly at Sweet Pea’s wrist, Jughead’s hips trying to squirm away, but Sweet Pea doesn’t pull out, crooks his fingers instead. Purposefully aiming for Jughead’s prostate again and the bright burst of the aftershock that sends through his body is enough to make him gasp helplessly and his vision white out for a second, radio static rushing through his ears.

“Sweet Pea!” Jughead hisses out and that finally gets Sweet Pea to have mercy on him and pull out slowly, leaving Jughead with a weird feeling of emptiness, his muscles clenching around nothing, a sweaty, sticky, boneless mess.

Sweet Pea reaches out a bit unsteadily and gathers up Jughead’s hand, guides it down to wrap around Sweet Pea’s dick, still very much hard and oh, fuck, right, Jughead thinks dumbly. He tries desperately to pull himself together and muster enough coordination to jerk Sweet Pea off, but he doesn’t quite manage. So Sweet Pea wraps a hand around Jughead’s to help him along and together they make it work. Sweet Pea kisses Jughead a little frantically, sloppy with arousal, the movement of his hips jerky as he thrust into their hands and then he comes with a gasp and a shudder, his dick twitching hotly in Jughead’s grip and adding to the mess on Jughead’s stomach.

Sweet Pea drops to the mattress on his side, after, just so managing to not crush Jughead beneath his weight and they both just lie there trying to catch their breath for moment. Jughead turns his head a little so that he can press his fever-hot cheek to Sweet Pea’s shoulder, eyes closed and breathing him in, the excess of endorphins in his blood making his body feel kind of fuzzy and light.

Huffing out a breath, Sweet Pea presses his lips to the top of Jughead’s head, one hand coming up to card through Jughead’s hair, his fingers massaging Jughead’s scalp gently. It feels really nice, intimate in a way that makes Jughead’s stomach flutter pleasantly and he gives a contented sigh and leans into the touch.

“Good?” Sweet Pea asks softly and a smile tugs at Jughead’s lips as he answers. “Yeah, definitely.”

He feels warm and happy and tired enough to sleep for a week, but the spunk is starting to dry on his stomach and he wrinkle his nose a little at how gross that feels. “Need to get cleaned up.” Jughead mumbles, a little pouty and not exactly ecstatic at the prospect of having to move.

Sweet Pea blows out a laugh through his nose and then carefully disentangles himself from Jughead, heaving himself off of the bed and to his feat. “I’ve got this. Bathroom?” He says and Jughead just so manages to make himself lift up a hand and wave vaguely in the right direction. “Hallway.”

Jughead can hear Sweet Pea stumble about in the dark, can’t help but laugh at the dull thud and low curse that floats over from the hallway. He feels loopy both with the afterglow of his orgasm and hardly having slept at all since the night before last. This was totally worth it, though, Jughead thinks as he shifts on the covers, waiting for Sweet Pea to get back, happily drifting.

Jughead jerks out of almost sleep, his heart suddenly racing, when he feels a careful hand on his shoulder. “Shit, sorry.” Sweet Pea murmurs and gently presses a damp towel into Jughead’s hand. “Here.” He’s wearing his boxer briefs again, Jughead notes blearily.

“Thanks.” Jughead groans, his heart rate slowly going back to normal as he wipes clumsily at his stomach and Sweet Pea ends up helping him a little, which is much appreciated under the circumstances. Once Jughead feels like he’s halfway decent again, he just tosses the towel to the side and it lands on the floor with a wet splat. He’ll take care of that tomorrow. Sweet Pea hands him his boxers next and Jughead shimmies into them clumsily, cursing a little as he tries to get his legs to cooperate, but he’s kind of grateful for that small extra barrier between him and the world. It makes him feel a little less vulnerable, a little less on display.

“Come on, up.” Sweet Pea prompts him as he pulls at the covers beneath Jughead and together, with a lot of groaning and huffing on Jughead’s part, they manage to free the covers and get Jughead tucked underneath. Sweet Pea crouches down next to the bed until he’s on eye level with Jughead, the look on his face soft as he brushes a sweaty strand of hair away from Jughead’s forehead. “I can go, if you want.”

Jughead appreciates the thought, but it’s really not what he wants at all and he shakes his head tiredly, eyes already drooping. “You don’t have to?” He whispers softly, reaching out to where Sweet Pea’s hand is resting on the mattress.

Sweet Pea gives him a lopsided grin in the dark of the bedroom and makes a shooing gesture with his hands as he gets up out of his crouch. “Scoot, then.” He says, a teasing note to his voice and Jughead does so, even if it’s a bit of a struggle with how heavy his limbs feel. Sweet Pea slips under the covers with him and as soon as Sweet Pea’s settled on his back Jughead shimmies closer until his head is resting on Sweet Pea’s shoulder, one arm thrown across Sweet Pea’s stomach and Jughead’s legs tangling with Sweet Pea’s, sleepily drawn to his warmth and solidity.

“Oh, great. You’re a cuddler. Should have figured.” Sweet Pea murmurs accusingly, but his arm tightens around Jughead’s shoulders anyway, wedging him against Sweet Pea’s side more securely and the ‘Shut up’ Jughead mumbles back carries no bite at all, partially do to the fact that he’s more than half asleep already.

It takes practically no time at all for Jughead to drift off after that, warm and sated and content in a way he hasn’t felt in much too long.

~*~*~

The dream starts out harmless enough. He’s sitting in the school yard at Riverdale High, having lunch with Betty, Archie, Veronica and Kevin. A completely normal day, the sun bright and warm in the clear blue sky, and Jughead is content to sit back and listen to his friends talk and joke amongst themselves. But his eye gets caught by something, someone, moving in the distance, at the other end of the yard.

Jughead squints his eyes to try and make out the figure more clearly, their frame seems familiar and it doesn’t take him long after that to realize that it’s his dad, arms waving frantically to draw Jughead’s attention. Once his dad sees Jughead looking, he stops with the waving and just stands there for a moment, eerily still, his hands down by his sides. Then he raises one arm slowly and points, up towards the sky, as if that’s where he wants Jughead to look and so Jughead follows with his eyes, his gaze drifting up to the endless blue above.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary there, aside from the fact that the sky looks as though some of the color has been bleached out of it, more gray than blue now, and the sun has lost some of its warmth, a bleak circle, so much farther away than it was just a second ago. When Jughead looks back down, his dad is gone. And so are his friends. It’s not the same yard anymore, either.

It’s the yard at Leopold and Loeb, dying grass and metal tables and Jughead is sitting with the Serpents in their gray prison issue sweats, Fangs on his one side, Sweet Pea on the other, laughing at a joke Jughead didn’t catch. His beanie’s gone and he can feel eyes on him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention and the muscles in his shoulders pulled tight with tension. He’s not safe here, the slithery feeling in his gut tells him vehemently.

He swallows thickly and tries to get up out of his seat, his heartbeat loud in his own ears, but he can’t, because all of a sudden there’s someone pressed up against his back, a pair of wide hands dropping onto his shoulders and keeping him where he is. Darwin’s voice sounds out so close to Jughead’s ear that he can feel Darwin’s breath gust hotly across the skin of his neck and his hands tighten around the edge of the steel bench he’s sitting on until his knuckles turn bone-white.

“How’s it going, pretty boy?” Darwin whispers, intimate and mocking and there’s that awful coil of nausea like a fist clenching around Jughead’s gut again and all he wants is to pull away, but he _can’t_. “I tried to warn you, you know? But you just don’t listen, do you? You just had to go and make me do this.”

Jughead opens his mouth to say something, but no sound makes it past his lips, regardless of how hard he tries. Darwin’s hands slip away from Jughead’s shoulders, one forward and down until it’s splayed across his chest, right above his frantically racing heart, and the other forward and around until it’s wrapped around Jughead’s throat, the palm pressing down on his Adam’s apple uncomfortably.

And Jughead’s not on the bench anymore, he’s kneeling, hardwood flooring digging into his knees through his sweatpants and the yard has melted away to be replaced by a vague impression of the music room, only all that Jughead can make out is the stage. Everything else just fades away into darkness, no matter what direction he glances in.

Darwin shifts his grip to Jughead’s chin and uses that to make him look straight ahead. There’s a tussle going on there, a group of Ghoulies surrounding one other figure, tall and unmistakable. Sweet Pea is clearly outmatched, his lip split open and bleeding, his face bruised, his knuckles scraped bloody and he’s fighting like a mad man, but there are too many of them and Jughead can see that Sweet Pea is slowly losing.

The sounds are horrible, fists connecting with flesh, dull and over and over again and every time, with each impact, Sweet Pea makes an involuntarily sound, high and pained and Jughead’s never heard him like that and it cuts so deep it’s like someone’s jamming a knife in between his ribs. Jughead tries to struggle against Darwin’s hold, tries to yell, to scream, anything to make them stop, but he can’t, it’s like his body is frozen in place, no longer his to command, he’s completely useless, helpless, unable to do a single thing about it as the rising panic cuts off his air supply.

Darwin’s voice is there at his ear again, low and mean and Jughead can’t fucking breathe. “This is all your fault, princess. If you’d just listened to me, none of this would have happened. All you had to do was be a good little whore, but you can’t even do that, can you? You’re so fucking useless.”

And then –

Jughead comes away with a start, his heart racing in his chest and gasping for breath. There’s a hand on his arm and Jughead jerks away from the touch, sitting up in his bed and scooting until his back is pressed against the wall of the trailer, his bleary eyes flying across the room as the dream slowly fades.

“You OK?” Sweet Pea’s voice floats over to Jughead, sleep-groggy and worried, and Jughead turns his head to the side to find Sweet Pea sitting there, the sheets pooled around his waist, his hair a glorious, spiky mess and one hand rubbing at his eye tiredly.

Jughead curses under his breath and tries to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths, as his heart rate haltingly starts to tamper back down to a more normal level. His eyes feel wet and he brings his hands up to rub at them, his movements jerky and too rough, upsetting his bruises and a sharp burst of pain shoots out from the bridge of his nose, making him gasp.

“Shit. Yeah, sorry.” Jughead mumbles and pulls his hands away from his face again. He carefully scoots down the mattress again so that he can drop back onto his pillow with a quiet oomph. He feels tired and groggy as Hell and judging by how dark it still is, he can’t have been asleep for all that long.

“Did I wake you?” Jughead asks sheepishly, pulling a face meant to look apologetic as he glances over at Sweet Pea, who’s still sitting upright and looking at Jughead, brows furrowed and frowning. Jughead’s managed to calm himself down somewhat. A fucking dream, that’s all it was, but the inside of his chest still feels unpleasantly bruised, anxiousness seated deep.

The cut on Sweet Pea’s arm from that shiv is a thin, black line against his skin and Jughead swallows around the lump in his throat, around the bitter memory. Sweet Pea shrugs one shoulder halfheartedly. “Sounded like you were having a bad dream or something.” Sweet Pea says, his voice quiet, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the hush of the room too much. “You have those often?”

It’s Jughead’s turn to shrug, his eyes sliding away from Sweet Pea’s as he answers, the fingers of one hand worrying at the fabric of his blanket. “Sometimes.” He says and deliberately doesn’t watch Sweet Pea’s face, feeling embarrassed and childish, his chest pulling tight again and his shoulders tensing up. “No big deal.”

“Sorry. Just – go back to sleep.” Jughead tags on and rolls onto his side, his back to Sweet Pea, because he’s not really sure, if he’ll be able to fall asleep again and he doesn’t want to keep Sweet Pea awake by proxy. That would be kind of rude.

Jughead can hear Sweet Pea grunt quietly, the covers rustling as he gets settled again, but then Sweet Pea keeps moving along the mattress until his body is a solid line of warmth all along Jughead’s back, skin to skin, down to his calves and Jughead lets go of a shaky breath. One of Sweet Pea’s arms drapes across Jughead’s side, his palm coming to rest on Jughead’s chest right over his heart, holding him close and he can feel Sweet Pea’s chin settle on Jughead’s hair.

Just like that, Jughead is surrounded by a cocoon of warmth and something shakes loose in his chest, something that rattles and hurts, when he breathes and he screws his eyes shut and buries his face in his pillow against the feeling. Regardless of how that uncomfortably squishes his nose. Jughead has to concentrate on just trying to breathe through it for a moment, it gets so intense, his eyes stinging and his hands clenched tight. He feels small and hurt and a little lost, but Sweet Pea presses a kiss into his hair and pulls him in tighter and he’s so warm and, after a little while, the feeling fades somewhat and Jughead can breathe a little more easily again.

Jughead unclenches his hands slowly, moves one of his arms until it’s draped across Sweet Pea’s, Jughead’s palm sliding over his, and Jughead interlaces their fingers carefully where Sweet Pea’s hand is resting on his chest. Jughead lets his body grow heavy again, the steady, soothing sound of Sweet Pea’s breathing what he focuses on as he closes his eyes and tries to drift off one more time, all of the tension slowly draining out of him.

It’s strange, being held like this. Something Jughead’s not used to at all, but he thinks he kind of likes it. A lot. It feels like maybe things are going to be OK, like maybe it’s alright to need this, like maybe he won’t dream again, so long as Sweet Pea doesn’t let go of him.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I hope you feel a little placated ~  
> There's one more chapter coming, I think, and then we should be done here. Thank you so much for sticking around for this long. I could never have gotten this far without you! <3
> 
> Also, as a side note: I realized the other day that I'd made a pretty stupid mistake timeline wise... For some reason I'd written this fic under the impression that Jughead hadn't met the Snake Charmer yet, when in fact he goes to see her in ep 2. She's only been mentioned twice so far, but I went back and changed those scenes to fix it. So sorry about that!


	9. You're the only thing that's worth holding onto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took me so long. I might have been putting off getting this chapter done, because I didn't want this to be over yet. Yes, this is actually the last chapter for now. If you want to hear my ramblings on the why, you can check out the end of chapter notes. 
> 
> For now, though, I just want to say, from the bottom of my heart _thank you, all of you_!! For clicking on this story, for reading it and leaving kudos and for all of those amazing, wonderful, awesome comments that you left. You guys have no idea how much that meant to me. I would not have been able to get where we are now without you, not even _close_. Basically, anything after the first 3 chapters is 100% you guys. You're the best and I love you all. 
> 
> I'm going to stop being emotional now and let you read this stupid chapter. 
> 
> I'm not crying, _you're_ crying!
> 
> ...

~*~*~

Jughead wakes to an empty bed, the scent of fresh coffee wafting over from the kitchen and the sound of their old coffeemaker running in the background. The prospect of coffee has his system perking up a little, but as he tries to move he falls back onto the pillows with a groan. His head feels like it might have fallen victim to a stampede sometime during the night and his face is tender, a dull throb radiating outwards from the bridge of his nose. Plus, regardless of how well he thinks he slept (at least after that stupid nightmare… and God that’s fucking embarrassing, but he really doesn’t have enough brain capacity available, yet, to deal with that), he still feels wrung out and tired. All in all, not the most pleasant state of being first thing in the morning.

Jughead grumbles and lifts a hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, but hisses in a breath a second later when he catches the bruise, and pulls his hand away again. Great. It takes his muddles mind a bit to catch up with him, as it usually does just after waking up, but as soon as it’s there, memories of last night flood back in and he can feel the heat as it climbs up into his face. Jughead can faintly hear someone rummaging around in the kitchen and he guesses that must be Sweet Pea.

A glance at his phone reveals that it’s half past nine, so hopefully he doesn’t have to feel too awful for being rude and sleeping in while he had someone over. It’s still a decent time to be up at on a Saturday and it also means that he didn’t sleep all that much longer, than he normally would have. Jughead is usually more of an early riser. The light pouring in through the bedroom windows is strong and warm and Jughead takes a moment to just lie there and soak it up, enjoying the soothing feeling as it pours across his skin, before he has to heave himself out of bed and start functioning.

His head feels stuffy and slow and his limbs are heavy and ungainly when he finally makes himself sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the mattress, the old rug rough against the soles of his bare feet. Jughead knows that there aren’t any more paracetamol around, he took the last one yesterday after he got home from school, but he might have to check if his dad has any aspirin in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, his headache pounding insistently as he moves. First things first, though.

Jughead blearily scans the bedroom floor until he finds his t-shirt form last night and pulls it over his head, before padding barefoot towards the kitchen area of the trailer. Sweet Pea’s standing at the fridge, back turned to Jughead, one hand on the open door, the other raking through his still slightly wet hair. He’s in socks, wearing his jeans and t-shirt from yesterday, looking oddly at home in Jughead’s little trailer and something warm flutters in Jughead’s stomach at the sight. It’s nice, he can’t help thinking.

“Morning.” Jughead mumbles and that gets Sweet Pea to turn away from the fridge and towards him, the frown on Sweet Pea’s face melting away as soon as Sweet Pea sees him, only to be replaced by a crooked grin, amusement clear in his eyes. Jughead takes a moment to wonder vaguely, if maybe he should be feeling a little more self-conscious. His hair is very probably a glorious mess right now, sticking out in all directions, as is the norm after just having crawled out of bed and he wouldn’t be surprised, if he still looks half asleep, either. Heck, he still _feels_ half asleep. Which is why he quickly disregards the notion. Not enough brain capacity at his disposal to properly care.

“Morning.” Sweet Pea shoots back, a tad bit too cheerful for Jughead’s liking, and closes the fridge door carefully. “You are aware of the fact that the only thing edible you’ve got around here is about half a bowl worth of cereal and no milk, right? Aside from coffee.”

Speaking of. Jughead trudges over to the coffee machine, grabs a mug from the cupboard above and fills it with a generous helping, then leans over the mug and takes a deep inhale of the bitter aroma, familiar and soothing with the promise of much needed energy, before he turns to answer Sweet Pea.

“Yeah, sorry about that...” Jughead pulls a face and shrugs one of his shoulders while he carefully cradles his coffee like the life elixir that it is. “I should have gone grocery shopping yesterday, but I kind of forgot...”

Sweet Pea huffs out a laugh and shakes his head mock-sadly. “No wonder you’re so fucking skinny.” To soften his words a little, though, Sweet Pea steps close to Jughead and leans down to place a soft peck onto his lips. Jughead wrinkles his nose a little and pulls back, mindful of the fact that he’s probably got a not so great case of morning breath right now, but Sweet Pea just smiles at him as he straightens up and asks. “Breakfast at Pop’s?”

That idea actually sounds pretty decent, Jughead thinks as he takes his coffee cup over to the table and sinks down into one of the chairs to take the first, gratifying sip, eyes slipping closed to savor the strong, bitter taste. Sweet Pea definitely makes decent coffee, that’s a huge plus in Jughead’s book. He sighs and opens his eyes again, looking over at Sweet Pea, who’s pouring himself a cup, too, and then comes over to join Jughead at the table. “Sounds good.” Jughead says and gives Sweet Pea a small smile. “I just need to grab a shower and brush my teeth real quick.”

“Sure.” Sweet Pea leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on Jughead with that fond little half-smile firmly in place. “I took the liberty of using your shower while you were still asleep. Hope you don’t mind.”

Jughead shakes his head ‘no’. “’Course not.” He mumbles and takes another sip of his coffee. Silence falls after that, but it doesn’t feel weird. Comfortable more like, and Jughead has a moment to wonder about how easy this is. He’s so used to ‘complicated’, he almost doesn’t know what to do with it. ‘Sit back and enjoy it while you can’, a voice at the back of his head pipes up and, while that may be a tad fatalistic, that inherent suspicion, that conviction that nothing good can ever last for him, Jughead intends to hold fast to the ‘enjoying’ part, at least.

So that’s what he does, basking in that feeling as he sips at his coffee and appreciates the way it slowly works its way through his system, starts to wake him up properly and even goes so far as to ease his headache a little. After a bit, though, Jughead sets his half empty cup down on the table and extracts himself from his chair, not wanting to make Sweet Pea wait any longer. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He mutters and trudges off towards the bathroom.

Closing the door after himself carefully and leaning over the sink, Jughead takes a moment to just look himself over in the mirror. And then spends another moment wishing he hadn’t. The bruising on his face is pretty spectacular, pooling at the bridge of his nose and flowing outward into two shiners that are probably going to take a while to fade. The bruising around his neck, at least, has lightened from it’s initial purple-blue to more of a hue of different brown and yellow tones, still distinguishable but Jughead entertains the reasonable hope that it’ll be done with and gone in a couple more days. Only now, there’s a fresh set of small, circular bruises starting at the hinge of his jaw and running down one side of his neck in a neat little trail.

It’s a good thing he’s still too tired to get properly annoyed, his face heating up at the memory of how he came by them, because not even his turtleneck is going to be able to hide those completely and he still has to go visit his dad later today… But maybe he’ll be lucky and his dad will be so distracted by the state of his face, that he won’t even notice, Jughead thinks a little frantically, before he hurriedly opens the medicine cabinet and watches his reflection slide away. Even he has to get lucky sometimes, right? There actually is a half-empty pack of aspirin in there, hiding behind a bottle of cheap cologne and a pack of band aids with hello kitty design, Jughead finds and sighs, before he grabs one and downs it with some water from the tap.

He makes quick work of brushing his teeth and then hops into the shower, the tiles still a little wet from its previous use, but there’s enough hot water left for him, thank God. It feels so good to just stand there and let the water gush down on him, and he soaks up the heat as steam slowly fogs up the air in the tiny room. Makes him feel less like a zombie and more like an actual human being. It even manages to soothe the ache in his face somewhat.

One of his hands moves up to his neck, idly tracing the line of fresh bruises with the tips of his fingers and he sucks in a soft breath at the way it feels, at how it calls up the vivid memory of Sweet Pea’s mouth on him. Because he had sex last night. With Sweet Pea. For the second time, the first time on their own terms. And it’d been pretty amazing, to put it mildly. Color creeping up into his face but curiosity winning out, he reaches a careful hand back and down until he can trace a finger along his rim. It feels a little strange, the tiniest bit sore, but not in a bad way. More memories push themselves to the forefront, and Jughead quickly reaches out to turn the water temperature to cold, before his rushing blood can get him into trouble.

The icy water makes him gasp, a shock to his system, and he hurries to turn it off completely after a couple of seconds, but it does the trick anyway. Normally, he wouldn’t really mind jerking off in the shower, especially on a slow weekend morning. With Sweet Pea waiting for him in the other room, though, he has to admit that the timing might just be the tiniest bit not so great. Hormones, Jughead thinks dryly, as he quickly towels himself off and gets re-dressed in the boxers and t-shirt he came in with.

He probably should have thought to bring a fresh set of clothes with him, but the 2 minutes it’ll take him to rush to the bedroom and change won’t really make all that much of a difference anymore either. Jughead sprays on some deodorant and drags a comb through his hair once, just to make sure that it won’t look absolutely ridiculous after letting it air-dry, and then steps out of the bathroom into the hallway.

“Jug?” A voice that very much does not belong to Sweet Pea stops Jughead mid-turn towards the bedroom and makes him spin back around on his heels to face the kitchen area. And, yeah, unless he’s suddenly started hallucinating, that’s definitely Betty standing there, pristine ponytail and pastel colored sweater and all. She’s wearing a somber expression, but her eyes widen when she takes him in, gaze catching on his face and his neck and Jughead can feel his stomach sink, color rising to his face as he quickly pulls up one hand to cover the side of his neck. Too little, too late, judging by the look on her face, though Betty is quick to mask the hurt, her chin raised and her voice even as she speaks.

“Archie said to come by, if I wanted to talk. I thought I might catch you now. Is this a bad time?” She says, her hands clutching just a tad bit too tightly at the pink peacoat she’s got draped over her folded arms.

Seeing her here, like this, it feels too familiar, too much a reminder of too many things and it’s so unexpected that it’s a little like getting punched in the gut. Jughead swallows thickly and steels himself against the onslaught of emotion, the whirlwind of thoughts plopping up in his head unbidden. He knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid talking to Betty for forever, but this is fucking horrible timing. Because Sweet Pea is standing just a few feet behind Betty, hips leaning against the kitchen counters and sipping idly at his coffee, pretending like he’s not paying attention to either of them, when he so very clearly is. And he doesn’t look particularly happy either.

Jughead could just tell her that ‘yes, this is a pretty bad time’, but that would end up hurting her even more after what she just walked into and, no matter how bitter Jughead feels about what she did, he still doesn’t want to be that cruel. “No, I– just give me a second.” Jughead blurts out and turns around to flee towards the bedroom, a silent mantra of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ playing in his head and he stumbles over his discarded jeans from last night and almost falls onto his face, but he manages to catch himself on the bed frame.

He yanks open the closet, digs out his turtleneck sweater, jeans, socks, underwear, and gets dressed in record speed. Slips into his boots before he hurries back out into the hall, where he can see that neither Betty nor Sweet Pea have moved so much as an inch in his absence, Betty’s back firmly turned towards Sweet Pea and the anxious flutter in his gut gets even worse at the cheerless picture they make. Betty raises an eyebrow at Jughead’s getup, this very likely being the first time she’s seen him wear a turtleneck in probably ever.

“We can talk outside?” Jughead offers hastily, one hand coming to rest on Betty’s elbow to softly steer her towards the front door of the trailer, eager to get away from the stuffy, charged feel of the air inside. Betty lets herself be moved along without complaint, though the frown on her face deepens as they walk and Jughead throws a glance over his shoulder towards Sweet Pea, who’s still very much not looking at him.

Jughead bites his lip against the lump rising up into his throat as he steps out of the trailer and closes the door after Betty and himself. He’ll fix this somehow, Jughead thinks, but he’ll need to tackle it one thing at a time. With a heavy sigh, he plops down onto the front steps and then waits until Betty joins him there, her peacoat carefully folded up to not drag across the ground and gather dirt.

“You’re not wearing that sweater for my sake, are you?” Betty asks, her mouth twisted up and her voice flat to hide the emotion behind it. “Because it’s a little late for that. And it’s not really working either. You can still see two of the hickeys. I guess it didn’t take you all that long to move on.”

Jughead feels first shame, then anger bubble up in his chest at her words, at the way she’s looking at him now, like this is all his fault somehow. Because it’s really not. “Well, you were the one, who broke up with me, remember?” He bites out, a little more harshly than he’d meant to, and he immediately feels bad at the way his words make her flinch. Jughead sighs and deflates a little, one hand coming up to wash through his slowly drying hair. “You’re here because you wanted to talk. Now’s the time.” He tries, a little more calmly.

It’s obvious enough that she’s still not happy, but Jughead can see Betty push it aside and steel herself, strong where she needs to be. A quality he’d always admired in her, even before they’d become a couple, during all those years they’d been ‘just’ friends, always such a light during the darkest parts of his childhood. It’s weird, how people grow up and apart, then closer again, only to repeat the same cycle, Jughead thinks vaguely, feeling a sudden and deep longing for those childhood days. Things hadn’t been perfect then, far from it, but they’d seemed simpler somehow.

“I did.” Betty says, turning a little in her seat on her part of the step to better look at him. “I –“ She starts, then falters, her eyes turning so sad for a moment Jughead has to stamp down on the instinct to reach for her. But she catches herself and goes on. “I wanted to explain why I did, what I did and I’d hoped I could make you understand. I guess I’m too late to ask you to give us another chance… If that’s really the case, then it’s my fault, I suppose. It’s just – I know you might not think so right now, but you mean a lot to me and I don’t want to lose you, if there’s any way at all.”

“Well,” Jughead says, hands waving around a little to show how antsy he feels. “Tell me why, then.”

Jughead folds his arms over his knees to keep his hands still after that and rests his chin on them, face turned to look at her as she launches into her explanation, the anger he’d held onto so stubbornly to keep himself going slowly beginning to drain away with the flow of her words and leaving behind only the hurt, that deep ache in his chest where she’d had a home before all this. He keeps his eyes on her as she comes clean about the Black Hood’s phone calls, about what he’d asked her to do, threatening Polly to make her comply, and how she’d gone to Archie for help. How she’d hurt first Veronica to push her away and keep her safe and then done the same to Jughead through Archie.

How she’d planned to talk to him as soon as she’d figured out how to keep him safe and that she’d gotten there after uncovering the Sugar Man’s identity and getting him arrested, finally breaking loose of the Black Hood’s hold over her. And, yeah, that’s a Hell of a lot to digest, that much is for sure, Jughead thinks, feeling floored and a little dizzy.

“And that’s pretty much it.” Betty closes, her eyes so sad a part of Jughead wants to do nothing more than to gather her up in his arms and sooth. But he can’t, so he digs his fingers into his knees harder to keep himself from reaching out, the feeling that’s twisting in his gut hard to bear.

“And with all that going on, you still found the time to get the gang together and hound Mayor McCoy until she dropped our cases to get us released from Juvy.” Jughead says, his voice a little more rough than he’d like, but Betty at least pretends like she doesn’t notice, offering him a tired smile instead.

“I meant it, when I said that I love you. You know that, right? That won’t ever change. Regardless of how you decide to move on with your life.” She wipes a palm across her cheeks, to cover up the wetness there, and Jughead lets his eyes slip to the side for a moment, to give her some privacy.

“I know. And it’s not like I can just magically make my feelings for you go away, either.” He says, eyes squeezing shut for a second to hold back the sting, then takes a deep, grounding breath. “The thing is, though, you could have come to me when all this started. But you didn’t. You went to Archie, instead. You ditched me. In the worst way possible. I’m sorry you had to go through all that, I really am, and I would have had your back 100%, if you’d trusted me enough to talk to me. I don’t think that the way things went is something I can just forget, you know? Move on and pretend like nothing happened? I don’t think I’ve got that in me. And...”

Jughead can’t help but glance up towards the trailer, where Sweet Pea is still waiting for him and when he looks back at Betty her eyes are wet again. This time, she doesn’t bother wiping the tears away, just lets them slide down her cheeks unhindered.

“And you met someone.” Betty finishes his sentence for him, her gaze briefly flicking to his neck and then back up to his face quickly. “So, how serious is it? And please tell me he’s not responsible for the way your face looks, too.”

“What?” Jughead blanches for a moment, just at the thought, a hand coming up to trace the bruise under one of his eyes carefully. “God, no. He’s the reason I don’t look any worse actually. Southside High’s no joke...” Jughead tries for his usual wry humor, but Betty doesn’t look like she’s particularly amused by his attempt, her frown only growing more severe, so Jughead quickly tries to change the subject instead. “As to how serious it is… I don’t really know, yet. It’s still pretty new. But Sweet Pea, he’s a decent guy, I swear. And I think I really like him.”

And that’s the truth, too, Jughead thinks, his chest pulling painfully tight. Betty swallows thickly and gives him a watery smile, the trace of bitterness so well hidden Jughead almost doesn’t catch it. “I’ll do my best to be happy for you then.” She clears her throat, when her voice gets a little too hoarse, and then, carefully, she goes on. “Do you think we can still be friends? Like we used to, before all of this horrible stuff happened?”

Betty looks so vulnerable just then, so hopeful, that it almost breaks Jughead’s heart and, despite the way it makes his chest ache and breathing feel harder, Jughead forces himself to not reach for her, because that would only end up making things more awkward for both of them. “You mean like when we were kids? You, Archie and me? The Three Musketeers, us against the rest of the world?” Jughead says, trying to lighten the mood a little, trying not to show how deeply a part of him longs for those times back, even though he knows that it can never be quite like that again. They’re all older now, with lives of their own, drifting apart more and more. But maybe they can find a way to hold onto what’s still left somehow.

Betty sniffles, her eyes clearing a little and her smile a bit more genuine, when she answers. “Yeah, something like that.”

“That would be good, I think.” Jughead offers more soberly, making sure to catch Betty’s gaze as he says it. And it’s true. Jughead might need a bit to sort himself out, to get to a point where talking to Betty doesn’t hurt quite this much anymore, where he’ll be able to deal with her the way he did before all this, but he’s willing to try. For the sake of all that shared history, all those sacred childhood memories.

Betty nods, resolute, and her hands are much more steady as she wipes her cheeks again and takes a deep breath for what feels like the first time since she got here. “So.” She says, trying for light and only falling short a little. “What are you going to do about the whole Juvy thing?”

Jughead blinks at her for a moment, a little startled by the sudden change in topic. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know you, Jug.” Betty puts some emphasize into the words and Jughead can’t really argue with that, even if he’s still not quite following. “You’re not just going to sit there and let injustice be served and the people responsible get away with it. I’m sure you’ve got some sort of plan.”

Jughead doesn’t quite manage to hold back the huff of bitter laughter that bubbles up his throat at her words, at the reminder. “Yeah.” He starts unhappily, fingers combing through his hair again and probably making it stick up in weird angles as it dries. “I wrote an article about the whole thing that I was going to publish in the Red and Black. Too bad Mr. Philips turned out to be the Sugar Man and all that, because he happened to be the one in charge of the school paper, too. Which now no longer exists, so…”

“Oh.” Betty makes a sympathetic face at that, looking for a moment like she’s about to apologize, but then catches herself. A more familiar expression taking over that tells Jughead she’s just had one of her ideas. “I could publish your article in the Blue and Gold! Sign you on as a guest writer for one issue.”

“You’d do that?” Jughead asks, perking up at her words, a careful tendril of hope and excitement taking root.

“Of course.” Betty says, eyes going soft. “I can’t promise that I’ll get it past Weatherbee, but I’ll definitely give it my best shot. You deserve to be heard. What happened wasn’t right and it shouldn’t just be forgotten and swept under the rug the way Mayor McCoy wants it to.”

And there’s that fire Jughead remembers so well, her eyes lighting up with indignation and purpose at the chance to go up against an injustice and set it right. The small smile that tugs at Jughead’s mouth is genuine and he tries to cover it up by getting up out of his perch on the stairs and rubbing his hands over the knees of his jeans, feeling the need to get moving again. “That would be really great.” He says as Betty gets up as well, unfolding her jacket and slipping into it, taking it as a cue to get on her way perhaps. “I’ll send you an email with the article later? I still need to go visit my dad, but I should be able to get it out today. So that you can proof it before you get back to school on Monday.”

“Perfect.” She takes a step towards him, a little stilted, arms raised halfway, then dropping them again. “I just – come here.” And then she crossed that last bit of space between them and wraps her arms around his neck. Jughead’s hands land on her hips automatically and he goes stiff in her embrace, uncomfortable and not sure what to do with himself. Betty seems to sense that and she pulls away again, though not before planting a kiss on his cheek.

Reeling a little, Jughead just stands there like an idiot for a moment, Betty’s smile fond and her eyes warm with emotion as she looks at him. “What are you going to do, if the Black Hood calls you again? Are you really going to go after him?” Jughead blurts out, saying the first thing that plops into his mind, just to break the weird mood.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m prepared.” Betty crosses her arms in front of her chest, eyes determined and her smile taking on a hard edge. “And you better be sure I’ll go after him. He’ll be sorry he ever tried to play his stupid games with me, because I’m _done_. I’ll be damned, if I let him take one more thing from me. I’m going to make sure he ends up right were he belongs, behind bars!”

Jughead doesn’t have trouble believing her for a second, regardless of how the thought of her going after a serial killer twists up his insides anxiously. “Just, promise to be careful?” He pulls a face and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep them still. “And let me know, if you get into trouble and need help, alright?”

“Promise. You, too, though.” Betty gives him one last serious look, then turns to descend the last few stairs, her ponytail bouncing with the motions. “Talk to you later.”

And just like that, before Jughead has the chance to say anything else, she’s gone. The feeling that lingers is weird and complicated. He can still smell her perfume, feel her arms around his neck and the press of her body against his, soft and so familiar that it makes his heart ache. There’s worry there, too, and a nagging sense of guilt at the things she’d had to go through when he couldn’t be there for her. But that, the guild, Jughead bites down on and pushes away harshly, because it’s not his fault he wasn’t there, regardless of how it always seems to be his first instinct to feel that way. And it’s not like he hadn’t had his own nightmares to face while she was out hunting down drug distributors and having private conversations with serial killers.

Jughead wonders, if he’ll really be able to make this friendship thing work, if it’ll ever stop feeling like this, or if he’ll spend the rest of his days torn between what was and what is, a part of him unable to let go, regardless of how she hurt him. But maybe that’s just a ‘first love’ kind of thing, Jughead thinks, the one that stays with you till you’re old and gray and all you’ve got left to keep you going are memories.

~*~*~

Jughead feels stretched thin and wrong footed, his mind messy and loud as he steps back into the trailer. Where Sweet Pea’s waiting for him, still leaning against the kitchen counters, facing Jughead with his arms crossed in front of his chest, coffee cup discarded, and his expression darkening even more as he takes Jughead in now. Jughead’s beanie is still laying on the dining table, where he dropped it after he took it off last night, and Jughead suddenly has the strong urge to reach for it, so he does. Lets the feel of the wool against his fingers calm him down a little as he pulls it over his head securely, uncaring of the messy state his hair is in at the moment.

He feels like he could really use an emotional shield right about now, everything seems a little overwhelming and the look on Sweet Pea’s face makes something inside of Jughead twist up painfully. Maybe he could have handled this better, Jughead thinks a little frantically, maybe he _should_ have told Betty to come back some other time and maybe she actually would have. But he didn’t and this is what he has to deal with now.

“So.” Sweet Pea says and Jughead can hear the barely suppressed anger in his voice, can see the way the corners of his eyes pull tight and his fingers dig into his bare arms and he has to fight the stupid impulse to shrink back form Sweet Pea. “You manage to talk things out?”

Jughead can feel his own hackles rise at the tone, his urge to bite back in self-defense strong and he has to take a deep breath, before he answers, just to make sure he can keep it civil. “Yeah, we did, actually. Look, I’m sorry you had to –“ But Sweet Pea doesn’t even let him finish his sentence, before he cuts Jughead off.

“Great.” Sweet Pea presses out and shoulders roughly past Jughead to get to his jacket, draped over one of the folding chairs at the dining table. “So you won’t mind, if I fuck off now.”

“What?” Jughead blurts out both angry and hurt and he grabs Sweet Pea’s arm to make him stop and look at Jughead. Sweet Pea shakes free of Jughead’s grip roughly, but he does halt his process of grabbing his jacket to glare at Jughead. “What the Hell are you talking about?”

“What do you _think_ I’m talking about?” Sweet Pea hisses, hands gesturing between the two of them, his explosive temper clearly getting the better of him. “I’m happy you and Ponytail made up and everything, but if that’s the case, I’m fucking _out_. Because I don’t know about the way you usually handle things, but I don’t fucking do ‘third wheel’. It’s not my style.”

“Hey! Wait!” Jughead rushes past Sweet Pea and plants his back firmly against the trailer’s front door, cutting off Sweet Pea’s route of escape and, OK, maybe that’s not exactly the smartest thing to do with the way Sweet Pea is fuming right now. But Jughead can do angry just fine himself and he fucking needs to clear this up. “Would you listen to me for, like, _five seconds_ , so that I can actually explain this, instead of just assuming shit?”

Sweet Pea looks unsure for a moment, clearly warring with himself, then he slouches against the dining table, arms folding in front of his chest again, like they’re a shield of his own, back stiff and expression more than unhappy. He’s listening, though, and not raining bodily harm down on Jughead to get past him, so that’s something…

“I’m sorry abut all that, alright?” Jughead says, feeling himself deflate, leaning back against the door to let it support more of his weight. “It was shitty to just leave you sitting here like that, I didn’t exactly think it through. But I couldn’t just tell her to leave, either? We’re –“ Jughead sighs, takes a deep breath and tries again, searching for the right words with Sweet Pea’s heavy gaze on him. “We’ve known each other almost all our lives. What she did was shitty as Hell, but I couldn’t just – I didn’t have it in me? We agreed to stay _friends_. That’s it! I’m not looking to get back together with her. I – I don’t know what this thing between you and me is, but I think I really like you and I don’t _want_ it to be over.”

“I really enjoyed last night, all of it.” Jughead tags on more softly, hoping that Sweet Pea will be able to tell how sincere he is, how much he means it.

Sweet Pea looks pained for a second, his eyes sliding away from Jughead’s face like it’s hard to look at him, then coming back up steely and sullen, before Sweet Pea moves away from the dining table. “I’m so sick of this Northside bullshit!” He huffs out and then shoves Jughead away from the door, so that he can pull it open. Not hard enough to actually hurt Jughead, not his intention, but Jughead still feels it sharply as he stumbles back a step.

Sweet Pea pauses in the doorway to give Jughead one more resentful look. “You’ve got pink lip gloss on your cheek, by the way. Might want to take care of that.” He says, before finally stepping outside and letting the door fall shut after him.

Jughead just stands there like an idiot for a second, eyes wide. Then bursts into motion, grabbing his keys and shrugging into his Sherpa jacket, using the sleeve of it to wipe at his cheek angrily, cursing under his breath as he rushes out of the door after Sweet Pea. Jughead bounds down the steps, heart racing in his chest, only to find Sweet Pea sitting astride his bike, helmet dangling form one hand and eyes closed, just pulling in deep breaths and not moving otherwise.

Jughead feels a little weary about approaching him, doesn’t want to make things worse by startling him when it looks like he’s trying to calm himself down. After a bit, though, Sweet Pea opens his eyes and glances over. His gaze darts away quickly enough, his expression still grim and unhappy as he stares down at the handle bar of his bike, but the immediate heat of his anger seems to have dissipated at least a little.

“You’re going to visit your dad at Shankshaw, right?” Sweet Pea asks without looking at Jughead.

“Yeah, I – That was the plan.” Jughead says, fiddling with his keys.

“Need a ride?” Sweet Pea finally glances at Jughead, out of the corners of his eyes, guarded and frowning. He might not be ready to step away from his grudge just yet, but it’s obvious that he’s trying, and Jughead can feel that awful knot in his stomach loosen somewhat. Maybe he didn’t fuck this up beyond saving after all.

“That would be good.” Jughead murmurs gingerly and reaches for his helmet, exchanges it for his beanie quickly to not give himself too much time to think about it, to not give that unsettled feeling too big a chance of taking over again, before climbing onto the bike with Sweet Pea.

Sweet Pea doesn’t look at him again, his movements jerky as he twists the keys in the ignition and the motor roars to life beneath them. The muscles in Sweet Pea’s back are stiff as Jughead wraps his arms around him, and they stay that way as they pull out of Sunnyside Trailer Park and all the way up the interstate to the prison. It’s not forgiveness, Jughead thinks, but it’s something. The cool wind in his face feels good, at least, and he’s hyper aware of all of the places Sweet Pea and him are touching, Jughead’s chest to Sweet Pea’s back, the insides of Jughead’s thighs pressed to Sweet Pea’s, with the rumble of the engine vibrating through both of them like a second heartbeat.

Solid and real, all of it.

~*~*~

When they pull up to the prison and Jughead finally climbs off of Sweet Pea’s bike, he’s not quite sure what to do now. Sweet Pea’s temper seems to have cooled somewhat, but he still refuses to really look at Jughead and the frown on his face says he’s not done brooding either. Jughead takes a moment to pull off his helmet and put his beanie back on, the chaos in his stomach making him feel a little queasy. The fact that it’s quarter past eleven and all he had for dinner last night was some popcorn and his breakfast today consisted of half a cup of coffee, isn’t exactly helping with that either.

But what can he do right now other than ignore it? Push it away as best he can and keep going, the way he always does, before it can overwhelm him, that horrible feeling deep in his gut at the thought that he might lose this thing that’s just barely made it into existence. “Thanks for the lift.” Jughead tries carefully and sighs, trying not to let it hit him too hard, when all Sweet Pea does is mumble a displeased “yeah” with his frown firmly in place. “I’ll hitch a ride back into town, when I’m done. I’ll see you around?”

“Sure.” Sweet Pea bites out a bit more harshly, looking down at his bike, his hands a little rough, when they turn the key and the motor sputters to life. Jughead could try again, maybe lean in and plant a kiss on Sweet Pea’s cheek to try and sooth his mood, but something anxious and scared holds him back, makes him take the easy way out and flee, instead. All he can think, as he turns and bounds up the steps to the prison’s main entry, the word loud and unpleasant as it clatters around in his head, is ‘coward’.

God, he hopes so desperately that he didn’t just ruin one of the potentially best things that have happened to him in a very long time.

~*~*~

Going to visit his dad in prison has never been a particularly cheerful experience. Just, the feel of the place, claustrophobic and depressing. The guards in their uniforms, poses stiff and primed for violence, the expressions on their faces bleak and unfriendly. The way they treat him making him feel like he’s scum, like they think he’s no better than the criminal he’s visiting. And, worst of all, seeing his dad in the context of this place, being able to talk to him only through a crackling, low-quality telephone receiver, seeing him through a thick pane of bulletproof glass in his prison issue uniform, looking worn and chipped around the edges, something haunted about his eyes, even though he does his best to cover it up. Jughead’s worst childhood fear become reality.

It feels even worse now, though, walking through those steel doors into the prison, his stomach pulling tight at the sound of them falling shut behind him. The process of being patted down and searched before he’s allowed into the visiting area. The gray concrete walls and heavy iron bars, the oppressive quality of the air all around him. It reminds him too much of Leopold and Loeb and he has to work hard to keep the panicky flutter in his gut at bay, to not let it show how unnerved he feels by all of it.

To not let those memories break free and take over from where he’d done his best to lock them up and let them rot away at the back of his mind. An irrational part of him almost wishes he’d asked Sweet Pea to come in with him, just to not have to do this alone. But that’s stupid, isn’t it? Childish in a way he can’t afford to be anymore. It’s just, it’s not even noon and it’s already been a Hell of a day and maybe that’s making him a little more susceptible to the awfulness of this place.

Swallowing dryly, Jughead takes a seat in front of his section of glass and picks up the receiver mounted to the half-wall meant to give some privacy as he waits for his dad to be brought in, trying to keep himself from fiddling with the cord or tugging at the neck of his sweater nervously, the feeling of the constricting circle of cloth around his throat not entirely comfortable. His dad walks in, grim-faced as usual, but does a double-take, eyes going a little wide, when he catches sight of Jughead sitting there and he walks over to him briskly, grabbing for the receiver on his side and yanking it off of its hold.

“Hey, dad.” Jughead tries fake cheerfully, but his dad talks right over him, his voice low and dangerous, eyes narrowed as he takes in Jughead’s face more closely. At least it looks like the state of his face might actually be enough to distract his dad from taking a closer look at his neck, Jughead thinks faintly.

“What the fuck happened to your nose, boy? Did that happen in Juvy? Did someone jump you? The Serpents were supposed to look out for you! If I find out someone didn’t do their fucking job, I swear I’ll –“ FP starts on a tirade, his face drawing tight and the vein on his temple becoming dangerously prominent and Jughead thinks it’s probably a good idea to stop him, before he manages to work himself up even more.

“No!” Jughead blurts out, then, when his dad actually pauses to listen to him, goes on a little more calmly. “No, I – Juvy was pretty uneventful.” He tries and sends a quick prayer to whomever’s listening that his dad will buy that and leave it alone, because he doesn’t even want to _think_ about what it would be like, having to explain how things had gone. Doesn’t want to imagine the look on his dad’s face, the disgust and disappointment, when he finds out what Jughead had to do to keep safe, because he’s weak and soft and nothing like his dad at all. So he rushes on, before his dad can start asking any more questions. “I had a little run in with some Ghoulies at Southside High yesterday.”

The scowl on his dad’s face deepens and Jughead hurries to tag on: “It’s nothing, dad. The other teen Serpents were there with me and we took care of it. I think the Ghoulies got the message, now. You don’t have to do anything. I’ve got it handled.”

“Those fucking, deranged wannabe corpses.” His dad hisses, making the hairs on the back of Jughead’s neck prickle uncomfortably. “You let me know, if they try anything again, boy. If they do, I’ll give Tall Boy a call and he’ll take care of things. We may have been trying to keep the peace up until now, but if they touch my boy again, the deal’s fucking _off_.”

And, yeah, Jughead doesn’t have trouble believing that for a second. This whole Ghoulie situation seems like another powder keg just waiting for the right spark to make it blow up in their faces as it is, and that would be really bad for the Serpents, Jughead thinks, nausea bubbling up and making him regret having even that half a cup of coffee this morning. He swallows around the hint of bitterness at the back of his tongue and tries to pull himself together. “It’s _fine_ , dad.” Jughead tries again, more insistently. “Like I said, we took care of it.”

That, at least, seems to make his dad deflate a little, the scowl softening into a frown and Jughead stifles a quiet sigh of relief, feeling himself sag in his seat. “So…” Jughead tries, eager to change the topic again and hoping his dad will let him. “You’re not mad I joined the Serpents?”

His dad bites, raises an eyebrow at Jughead and brings up a finger to tap lightly against the glass separating them, before dropping his hand again. “I wasn’t all that happy, when I first heard, I’ll give you that.” FP grumbles, the look he gives Jughead pinched and chastising. “But I gotta say it was the best thing could have happened to you, when you got put away. Could’ve gone pretty baldy in there without protection. I mean, the Serpents would’ve looked out for you anyway, as a courtesy to me probably, but it made things easier. And now, too. That fucking school’s no joke. I never wanted this life for you, I always thought you’d be able to do better. You’re the smartest Jones I know of, with your writing and everything. But I guess I fucked up pretty bad, huh? And now it’s up to you to make the best out of what you’ve got.”

Jughead doesn’t really know what to say to that. There’s too much to unpack there. It feels too hopeless. Like giving up. But he’s not. Maybe he didn’t exactly get dealt the best hand in life, especially at the moment, but that doesn’t mean he has no chance of going somewhere. Anywhere. He’s still got his writing and maybe he’ll even make it into college, if he tries hard enough, the first Jones to go. It’s not too late for any of that, he tells himself firmly. He’s not his dad, this doesn’t have to be the end of the line for him, right? He just has to hold onto that thought as hard as he can, not lose sight of it no matter how rough the going gets.

The moment passes quickly enough, though, the demure, self-loathing expression on his dad’s face falling away to be replaced with a displeased frown, eyes narrowing dangerously as they zone in on Jughead’s neck and Jughead never gets a chance to answer. “Wait a minute.” His dad growls, finger pointing accusingly, and Jughead can feel the color draining from his face. “Is that a _hickey_ , son?!”

“Oh, my God, _dad_!” Jughead blurts out, his face heating furiously and he brings up a hand to cover it, frantically thinking that now would be a pretty good time for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

His dad consequently spends the next half an hour giving Jughead the most embarrassing ‘talk’ he’s ever had. A very detailed, very angry lecture about responsibility and staying safe that Jughead is never, ever going to be able to scrub form his brain, leaving him pretty much scarred for life, he thinks, being perhaps the tiniest bit over-dramatic.

~*~*~

When Jughead finally exits Shankshaw, he feels thoroughly mortified and more than a little dizzy. Talk about things that are going to haunt him for the rest of his days… It’s all a bit much, honestly. And he’s really starting to think that he should not have done this on an empty stomach, but here he is anyway and there’s nothing much he can do about it now. The thought alone of having to hitch a ride to get back into town makes his already queasy stomach twist uncomfortably, but maybe he’ll be lucky and catch a nice family on their way back from visiting a relative or something.

When he finally looks up, only to see Sweet Pea standing there, leaning back against his bike, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, Jughead stops dead in his tracks, taken completely by surprise, his mouth dropping open. Sweet Pea raises an eyebrow at him, looking somewhat defensive. “What?” He grouses, shoulders pulling up a little.

“You waited?” Jughead blurts out dumbly, feeling like a total idiot.

“Yeah, well.” Sweet Pea shoots back, one hand coming up to gesture vaguely at Jughead. “I couldn’t really let you just try to hitch a ride, could I? Around here. With your face looking like _that_.”

Jughead just blinks at him for a moment, trying to process, and Sweet Pea looks down at his boots as one of his feet kicks at the gravel lightly, hand coming back to his jacket to fiddle with the hem a little. “Besides.” He mumbles, frowning, almost too low for Jughead to hear. “You _still_ don’t have any food at home and I’m pretty sure I said something about taking you to Pop’s earlier, so...”

As if on cue, Jughead’s stomach starts to grumble loudly, the mention of food enough to remind him of just how hungry he is right now. His cheeks go a little pink, but he can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face at the same time. “You really know the way to a guy’s heart.” He says jokingly and Sweet Pea finally looks up at him, then, wearing a small grin of his own. The relief that washes through Jughead is so intense it makes him feel a little light-headed.

He’s moving before he even knows it, stepping in between Sweet Pea’s legs where he’s leaning against his motorcycle and reaching up to pull Sweet Pea into a kiss. Sweet Pea lets go of his jacket in favor of wrapping his arms around Jughead’s back and pulling him closer, his tongue teasing at Jughead’s lower lip. Shuddering lightly, Jughead lets his lips part and darts his own tongue out to carefully nudge at Sweet Pea’s, then draws it back in only for Sweet Pea’s to follow. Sweet Pea makes a gruff little sound low in his chest and kisses him harder and it feels so good, just this, Sweet Pea holding him close, that he could easily lose himself in it.

It makes the tension of this place slowly drain out of him, that haunted feeling he couldn’t shake, replaced by the seductive rush of blood, his heartbeat loud and quick in his ears and he has to pull away again before it can get too intense. Jughead sighs and rests his cheek against Sweet Pea’s shoulder, arms snaking around Sweet Pea’s chest so that Jughead can hug him properly. He should probably apologize again, he thinks, lips tingling and chest pulling tight.

Before he can get around to it, though, Sweet Pea plants a wet kiss on Jughead’s forehead that has Jughead’s nose wrinkle and then smacks Jughead’s ass lightly, making him yelp and pull back, face flaming. “Lets get some food.” Sweet Pea says, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulls on his helmet. “Cause I’m actually pretty fucking hungry, too.”

Jughead snorts, takes off his beanie so that he can pull on his own helmet and climbs onto the bike behind Sweet Pea, arms wrapping around Sweet Pea’s middle and prepared to hold on tightly. And maybe this is going to be OK, after all, Jughead thinks as the gravel of the parking lot crunches underneath the wheels of Sweet Pea’s bike. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to hold onto this, see where it takes them form here. There’s still so much that’s pending, so much to be unsure of. His dad’s case, the Ghoulies, his standing with the Serpents, the brewing potential war with the Northside, this weird balancing act between his old life and his new one. All of those things. The nightmares that still haunt him and the memories he wishes he didn’t have.

But, at least for now, he’s not alone, and maybe that’ll be enough to make it through. He feels lighter, than he did before, as the prison building grows smaller in the distance and the tree-lined road stretches out before them with its snakelike twists and turns, the speed limit sign a dizzy blur as they fly past it.

Later that day, Tall Boy is going to call with an unfamiliar address to tell him that he wants to parley only to betray him and his dad both. He’ll get to know first hand how much of a problem the Ghoulies really are. On Monday, Betty will let him know that she tried everything she could, but Weatherbee wouldn’t let her publish his article in the Blue and Gold because that ‘would be irresponsible’. And shortly after, the notice that Southside High is being closed will come in and he’ll have to deal with the two worlds he’s been stuck between all his life suddenly colliding, the mix more than a little explosive. Penny Peabody will call to cash in those favors he owes her, eventually. The Black Hood will continue to terrorize the town and its inhabitants, leaving dead bodies in his wake. And more will come still. But he doesn’t know any of that yet and for now, all there is looming in the foreseeable future, is the promise of breakfast at Pop’s with Sweet Pea, a small moment of peace and quiet for him to enjoy before the storm hits for real.

~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it, yay!   
> I hope you guys are OK with the way this ended :) I did my best, I promise.
> 
> I would have loved to just keep this going forever, I enjoyed writing it so much. This story has been accompanying me through a tough time and it's been a soothing, fun way to get away from things for a bit. The things is, though, with this chapter, pretty much all of the 'original' plot points I opened up at the beginning have been brought to a close and, if I went on with this fic, I'd basically just be re-telling the events of season 2 only with Jugpea instead of Bughead. And, while I love writing Jugpea for any reason whatsoever, I think that would have just gotten boring, both for you and for me. Should I ever be able to come up with a good plot for a second part, I will gladly return to this and make it a series. But until then, this is it.
> 
> In the mean time, I have so many other things I'd like to try my hand at and take some time to work on. Mostly one-shots, but I also have the concept for another, potentially longer story worked out that I want to start writing, as well. So, maybe you'll find something there, that you'll like, too, and that will make it a little easier to not hate me for ending this now. 
> 
> As I said, I love you all and thank you for sticking with me for this long! <3


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